THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

Rare  Books  Dept« 

GIFT  OF 

Professor 
Robert  L.  McNuliy 


PHILIP  THE  KING 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  •   BOSTON  •   CHICAGO  •   DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •   SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •  BOMBAY  •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


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PHILIP   THE    KING 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY 


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THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1914 


All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1913,  by  Harper  and  Brothers. 
Copyright,  1914,  by  The  Century  Company  a'ud  by 
the  McClure  Publications*  *.   *.     *  ••!•*•• 

CopykighV,  1914,  *  **.•* 

By  THU  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 

Set  up  and  electrotype^.  J  P^blisljell  Np<embtetrfc*4.;  J  • 


•  •• 


■..•"..•; 


t.       « 
*         * 


NorfaooU  $re«» 

J.  S.  Cushlng  Co.  —  Berwick  <fc  Smith  Co. 

Norwood,  Mass.,  TJ.S.A. 


Go 

MY  WIFE 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Philip  the  King 1 

The  "Wanderer" 87 

August,  1914 106 

The  River 112 

Watching  by  a  Sick-Bed 140 


vii 


PHILIP  THE  KING 

A  PLAY  IN  ONE  ACT 


PERSONS 

Philip  the  Second  of  Spain 

His  Daughter,  the  Infanta 

An  English  Prisoner 

A  Spanish  Captain 

Guards 

SPIRITS 

Indians 

Don  John  of  Austria 

Escovedo 

Don  Alvaro  de  Bazan,  the  Marquis  of  Santa  Cruz 

Alonso  de  Leyva 

TIME 
At  dawn  in  late  September,  1588 

SCENE 
A  little  dark  cell  in  Philip's  palaoe 


PHILIP  THE  KING 

Philip  (Kneeling). 

Lord,  I  am  that  Philip  whom  Thou  hast 
made  King  of  half  the  world.  Thou  knowest, 
Lord,  how  great  a  fleet  I  have  fitted  out  to 
destroy  the  English,  who  work  evil  against 
Thee.  Lord,  I  beseech  Thee,  keep  that  great 
Armada  now,  as  I  trust,  in  battle  on  the 
English  coast.  Protect  my  ships,  O  Lord, 
from  fire  and  pestilence,  from  tempest  and 
shipwreck,  and  in  the  day  of  battle.  Amen. 
Amen. 

Lord,  now  that  the  battle  is  joined,  grant 
us  Thy  victory,  I  beseech  Thee.  Amen. 
Amen. 

Lord,  I  beseech  Thee  to  have  in  Thy  special 
keeping  my  beloved  friend,  Alonso  de  Leyva, 


4  PHILIP   THE  KING 

now  at  sea  with  my  fleet.    Guard  his  ways, 

O  Lord,  that  so  he  may  come  safely  home  to 

me.    Amen.    Amen. 

Lord,  of  Thy  mercy,  I  beseech  Thee  to 

send  to  me,  if  it  be  Thy  will,  some  word  or 

message  from  my  fleet,  that  I  may  know 

Thy  will  concerning  it,  that  my  weary  heart 

may  find  peace.    Amen.    Amen. 

(He  rises.) 
Enter  the  Princess. 

Princess. 
Has  no  news  come  ? 

Philip. 
None  yet. 

Princess. 

Still  nothing  ? 

Philip. 

No. 

Princess. 
Two  months  now  since  they  sailed  and  still 
no  word. 


PHILIP  THE  KING  5 

Philip. 
The  wind  is  foul ;  they  cannot  send. 

Princess. 

I  know. 

And  yet  what  tales,  what  rumours  we  have 

heard. 

How  the  heart  sickens  for  the  want  of  news. 

Is  that  a  courier  ? 

Philip. 

No. 

Princess. 

What  if  we  lose  ? 

Philip. 
Why  should  we  lose  ? 

Princess. 

Because  of  too  much  pride 

Planning  for  glory  not  as  scripture  bade. 

Philip. 
I  am  not  proud  nor  hopeful,  nor  afraid. 

But  you  are  trembling,  sweet,  and  heavy- 
eyed. 


6  PHILIP  THE  KING 

Princess. 
I  am  afraid,  for  all  night  long 
The  spirit  of  Spain's  committed  wrong, 
Nourished  wherever  a  life  was  shed, 

Stood  near  my  bed; 
And  all  night  long  it  talked  to  me 
Of  a  trouble  there  is  beyond  the  sea. 
A  trouble  of  war  ...  I  heard  a  horn 

Blowing  forlorn, 
And  I  knew  that  it  came  from  far  away, 
From  men  of  Spain  in  a  pass  at  bay 
Blowing  for  help ;   the  beaten  call 
None  heeds  at  all. 
And  now  I  fear  that  we  have  angered  Him 

Who  makes  pride  dim. 

Philip. 
What  we  have  done  with  our  might 
Cannot  be  hateful  to  God. 
He  speaks  with  dreams  in  the  night 
That  the  tired  heart  turn  home 


PHILIP   THE  KING  7 

And  an  end  of  brooding  come. 
My  heart  has  flushed  in  His  praise, 
The  glow  in  my  heart  took  sail 
In  a  fleet  that  darkens  the  sprays; 
Sacrifice  may  not  avail, 
But  the  uttermost  gift  is  wise. 

Princess. 
Yes,  I  believe  that ;  and  the  deed  is  grand  — 
It  is  a  mighty  blow  to  deal  for  God. 
But  in  my  ear  there  rings 
Ill-omened  words  about  the  pride  of  kings  — 
"  Pride  is  the  evil  that  destroys  a  land." 

Philip. 
Brooding  and  watching  waste  you,  you  must 

sleep ; 
The  hand  of  God  will  bring  us  through  the 

deep. 

Princess. 
Amen,  my  father,  but  my  heart  is  breaking. 


8  PHILIP   THE  KING 

Philip. 
You  are  too  young  for  heart-break ;  let  it  be. 

Princess. 
There   was    another    fear   which    kept    me 

waking : 
Spain's  unborn  monarchs  came  by  night  to 

me, 
Each  holding  fewer  of  the  Spanish  gems 
Here  and  abroad,  each  weaker  in  the  soul. 
With  wearier  brows  and  dimmer  diadems, 
And  feebler  fingers  giving  up  control, 
Till,  as  it  seemed,  a  hundred  years  from  now, 
An  idiot  child  was  all  the  might  of  Spain, 
And  English  spirits  beat  them  on  the  brow, 
Robbing  their  gems  and  binding  them  with 

chain. 
And  Spain's  proud  flag  was  draggled  in  the 

sea. 
And  then  these  shapes  lamented,  threaten- 
ing me; 


PHILIP  THE  KING  9 

Saying    that    we    began    Spain's    downfall 

here  — 
So  grimly,  father,  that  I  shook  with  fear. 

Philip. 
Child,    these    are    only    dreams.    I    have 

learned  this 
Since  I  have  been  a  king,  that  our  concern 
Is  not  with  Hope  nor  Fear,  but  with  what  is, 
Which,  when  we  follow  dreams,  we  cannot 

learn. 
Be  patient,   child;    besides,  the  wind  has 

changed ; 
God's    will    must    never    find    our    hearts 

estranged : 

The  wind  is  north,  the  news  may  come  to-day. 

Ship  after  ship  is  running  down  the  Bay 

With  news;    God  grant  that  it  be  happy 

news. 

Princess. 
Rest  till  it  comes,  dear  father. 


10  PHILIP  THE  KING 

Philip. 

You  can  choose, 

You  who  are  young,  whether  to  rest  or  no ; 

When  one  is  old  one  sees  the  hours  go. 

Dear,  they  go  fast  from  withered  men  like 
me. 

You  were  my  little  daughter  on  my  knee 

When  first  this  war  with  England  was  con- 
ceived. 

Now  you  are  this   .  .  .,  it  would  not  be 
believed, 

And  nothing  done,  and  still  time  hurrying 

by. 

We  are  two  grey  old  partners  —  Time  and  I : 
Look  at  the  work  we  dp  .  .  .  you  talk  of 

rest. 

Princess. 
You  call  your  Captains  in  and  choose  the 

best, 
And  make  him  do  the  work. 


PHILIP  THE  KING  11 

Philip. 

Ah,  you're  a  Queen, 
That  is  what  you  would  do,  but  I  am  King. 
Kings  have  no  beauty  to  make  duty  keen; 
They  have  to  supervise  with  whip  and  sting. 

Princess. 
You  do  not  whip  men;   you  are  good  and 

mild. 

Philip. 

Artists  and  Kings  do  what  they  can,  my  child, 
Not  what  they  would.    It  is  not  easy,  dear, 
Working  with  men,  for  men  are  only  clay, 
They  crumble  in  the  hand,  or  they  betray 
And  time  goes  by,  but  no  results  appear  — 
Your  little  hands  have  happier  work  than 

mine. 
Ah,  little  daughter,  childhood  is  divine. 

Princess. 
I  am  no  child  now  that  the  fleet  has  sailed ; 

I  was  till  then,  but  now  I  realize 

What  it  would  cost  my  father  if  it  failed. 


12  PHILIP  THE  KING 

Philip. 
Yes,  it  has  cost  some  life,  this  enterprise. 

Princess. 
But  all  you  had  to  do  was  give  the  word. 

Philip. 
Ah,  darling,  many  thousand  men  have  heard 

Orders  from  me  since  this  attempt  began 

Seventeen  years  ago.     Full  many  a  man 

Who  helped  the  earliest  outlines  of  the  plot 

Died  at  his  unknown  task  suspecting  not 

What  pattern  his  life's  colour  helped  to  weave. 

Child,  if  I  told  you,  you  would  not  believe 

How  this  idea  has  triumphed  on  unchanged 

Past  great  commanders'  deaths,  past  faith 

estranged, 
Past  tyranny  and  bloodshed  and  ill-hap, 
Treachery  striking  like  a  thunder-clap, 
Murder,  betrayal,  lying,  past  all  these, 
Past  the  grim  days  when  feelings  had  to 

freeze 


PHILIP  THE  KING  13 

Lest  the  great  King  should  drop  his  mask  of 

lies 
And  hint  his  purpose  to  the  thwarted  spies, 
Past  half  a  world  of  men  and  years  of  thought, 
Past  human  hope,  to  be  the  thing  I  sought. 
Now  that  the  dice  are  scattered  for  the  stakes, 
I  half  forget  that  old  affront  of  Drake's, 
By  which  this  war  with  England  was  begun. 
O  child,  the  labour  that  must  first  be  done 
Before  a  King  can  act !  —  unending  work. 
All  the  long  days  of  beating  down  the  Turk, 
Then  when  Don  John  had  thrust  the  Cres- 
cent down 
(You  cannot  know)  he  plotted  for  the  crown ; 
Don  John,  my  Admiral,  plotted  against  me. 
He  would  have  sunk  the  English  in  the  sea, 
But  since  he  plotted,  that  was  ended  too. 
Then  a  great  world  of  labour  still  to  do,  j 
The  French  to  check,  and  then  the  Portu- 
guese, 


14  PHILIP   THE  KING 

Clearing  myself  a  pathway  through  the  seas. 
Then,  when  my  way  was  clear,  my  Admiral 

died, 
The  Marquis  Santa  Cruz,  the  unconquered 

guide, 
The  greatest  sea  commander  of  known  times. 
Seventeen  years  of  subtleties  and  crimes. 

But  it  is  done.     I  have  resolved  those  years, 
Those  men,   those  crimes,   those  great  at- 
tempts, those  tears, 
Sorrows  and  terrors  of  a  twisted  earth, 
Into   this  fleet,   this   death,   this   Dragon's 

birth  ; 
I  who  have  never  seen  it,  nor  shall  see. 

Princess. 
I  shall  thank  God  that  it  was  shown  to  me ; 

I  saw  it  sail. 

Philip. 
You  saw  my  heart's  blood,  child. 


PHILIP  THE  KING  15 

Pkincess. 
All  a  long  summer  day  those  ships  defiled. 
I  never  saw  so  many  nor  so  grand; 
They  wandered  down  the  tide  and  cleared 

the  land, 
And  ranked  themselves  like  pikemen,  clump 

to  clump. 
Then   in   the   silence   came   the   Admiral's 

trump, 
And  from  those  hundreds  of  expectant  ships, 
From  bells  and  cannonade  and  sailors'  lips, 
And  from  the  drums  and  trumpets  of  the 

foot 
Burst  such  a  roaring  thunder  of  salute 
As  filled  my  heart  with  wonder  like  a  cup. 
They  cheered  St.  James's  banner  going  up  — 
Golden  St.  James,  whose  figure  blew  out 

fair, 
High  on  the  flagship's  mast  in  the  blue  air, 
Rippling  the  gold.     Then  all  the  city  bells, 


16  PHILIP  THE  KING 

Fired  like  the  singing  spheres  some  spirit 

impels, 
Rang  in  the  rocking  belfries,  the  guns  roared, 
Each  human  soul  there  shook  like  tautened 

cord. 
And  to  that  Christian  march  the  singing 

priests 
Bore   up   the   blessed   banners.    Even   the 

beasts 
Ramped  at  the  challenge  of  that  shouting 

crowd. 
Then,  as  the  wind  came  fair,  the  Armada 

bowed. 
Those  hundreds  of  great  vessels,  ranked  in 

line, 
Buried  their  bows  and  heaped  the  bubbled 

brine 
In  gleams  before  them.    So  they  marched; 

the  van, 
Led  by  De  Leyva,  like  slipped  greyhounds,  ran 


PHILIP  THE  KING  17 

To  spy  the  English.     On  the  right  and  left 
By  Valdes  and  his  friend  the  seas  were  cleft ; 
Moncada's  gallies  weltered  like  a  weir, 
Flanking  Recalde,  bringing  up  the  rear, 
While    in    the    midst    St.    James's    banner 

marched, 
Blowing  towards  England  till  the  flagpole 

arched. 
Onward  they  swept  the  sea,  the  flagship's 

side 
Smoked  from  her  cannon's  hail;    she  took 

her  stride, 
Leaned  and  stretched  forward. 

I  was  conscious  then 
That  I  beheld  the  greatest  fleet  that  men 
Ever  sent  seaward ;  all  the  world  was  there, 
All    nations    that    begem    the    crown    you 

wear, 
Pikemen  of  Rome,  whose  settled  pikes  had 

stood 


18  PHILIP  THE  KING 

Stern  in  full  many  a  welter  of  man's  blood. 
Cunning   Levantines,   armed   with   crooked 

swords, 
Venetians  bronzed,  the  ocean's  overlords, 
Pisans  and  knights  of  Malta,  Ferrarese, 
Passionate  half-bloods  from  the  Indian  seas, 
Hollanders,  Austrians,  even  English,  come 
To  bring  again  religion  to  their  home ; 
Spain  too,  our  Andalusians,  and  the- hale 
Iberian  Basquers  used  to  hunt  the  whale  — 
The  flower  of  the  knighthood  of  the  world 
Mustered  beneath  the  banner  you  unfurled. 

****** 
And  that  was  but  the  half,  for  there  in 

France 
Was  Parma's  army  ready  to  advance, 
Death-coupled  bloodhounds  straining  to  the 

slip, 
Waiting  your  navy's  coming  to  take  ship. 
Father,  such  power  awed  me. 


PHILIP  THE  KINO  19 

Philip. 

Time  and  I 
Worked  for  long  years. 

Pkincess. 
And  when  it  had  passed  by 
The  bells  were  silent,  and  a  sigh  arose 
Of  joy  in  that  fleet's  pride,  and  grief  for 

those 
Who,  even  if  all  went  well,  had  looked  their 

last 
On  men  and  women  who  had  made  their 

past. 
Then  darkness  came,  and  all  that  I  could 

see 
Was  the  horizon  where  the  fleet  must  be  — 
A  dimming  skyline  with  a  setting  star. 
It  was  as  though  they  died;   and  now,  who 

knows 
What   has   befallen   them,  or   where   they 

are? 


20  PHILIP  THE  KING 

And  night  by  sleepless  night  my  trouble 

grows. 
This  daily  silence  has  been  hard  to  bear, 
But  now  I  dread  news  worse. 

Philip. 

We  must  prepare, 

Hoping  the  best,  but  ready  for  the  worst- 

But   patient  still,   for  rumour  must   come 

first  — 
Rumour   and   broken    news   and   seamen's 

lies; 
Patience,  expecting  nothing,  is  most  wise. 
If  God  vouchsafes  it,  we  shall  hear  to-day. 
Lighten  your  heart,  my  daughter. 

Peincess. 

I  will  pray  — 

Pray  for  a  Spanish  triumph. 

Philip. 

Pray  for  me. 

Pray  for  God's  cause  adventured  on  the  sea. 


PHILIP  THE  KING  21 

Princess. 
I  will;    God  help  my  prayer. 

Philip. 

God  help  us  both. 

[She  goes. 

Lord,   I  have  laboured  long  to  keep  my 

oath, 
And  since  my  loved  one  died  it  has  been 

hard. 
O  Lord,  my  God,  in  blessed  mercy  guard 
My  only  friend  De  Leyva,  now  at  sea; 
Keep  him,  O  Lord,  and  bring  him  home  to 

me. 

0  Lord,    be    thou    his    bulwark    and    his 

guide; 

1  am  so  lonely  since  my  loved  one  died. 

How  splendidly  the  nations  hold  their  way, 
Marching  with  banners  through  the  fields 
of  Time! 


22  PHILIP  THE  KING 

Who  sees  the  withered  King  weary  and  grey, 
Prompting  it  all  with  secret  lust  or  crime? 
Who  guesses  at  the  heavy  brain  behind? 
I  am  Earth's   greatest   man;  the  world  is 
blind. 

(He  droops  over  his  papers.    Starting  up.) 
I  have  still  strength,  and  I  must  read  these 

scrolls, 
Or  else  all  goes  to  ruin;   I  must  read. 

(He  sleeps.) 

Voices. 
Philip! 

Philip. 
Who  calls? 

The  Indians  enter. 

Voices. 

We  are  the  Indian  souls, 

Loosed    from    the    gold-mines    where    our 

brothers  bleed. 

We  swell  the  tale  of  blood:    we  dug  you 

gold; 


PHILIP  THE  KING  23 

We    bore    your    burdens    till    we    died    of 

thirst ; 
We  sweated  in  the  mines  or  shook  with 

cold, 
Washing  the  gravel  which  the  blast  had 

burst. 
We    dived    for   pearls    until    our   eyeballs 

bled; 
You  burned  us  till  we  told  where  treasure 

lay. 
We  were  your  Indian  slaves,  but  we  are 

dead; 
Our  red  account  is  cast  and  you  must  pay. 

A  Voice. 
Our  lives  paid  for  your  fleet;   you  pay  for 

us. 
The  unjustly  killed  restore  the  balance  thus. 

A  Voice. 
They  flung  my  little  baby  to  the  hounds. 


24  PHILIP  THE  KINO 

A  Voice. 
They  took  my  daughter  from  me  for  their 

lust. 

A  Voice. 
Even   the   weak   are   strong   beyond  life's 

bounds ; 
We    myriad    weak     add     power    to    the 

thrust. 

Voices. 
Philip!  Philip!  Philip! 
We  gather  from  over  the  sea 
To  the  justice  that  has  to  be 
While  the  blind  red  bull  goes  on. 
Philip!  Philip!  Philip! 
We  who  were  ciphers  slain 
In  a  tale  of  the  pride  of  Spain 
Are  a  part  of  her  glory  gone. 

A  Voice. 
We  see  them  where  our  will  can  help  then- 
foes. 


PHILIP  THE  KING  25 

A  Voice. 
Quick,    brother,    quick!     another    galleon 

goes! 
Waken  those  sleeping  gunners  by  the  fire, 
Or  she'll  escape  unracked.  [They  fadeaway. 

Philip. 

The  voices  tire. 

They  go.    I  dreamed.    I  slept.    My  heavy 

head 
Is  drowsed.    What  man  is  that? 

(Don  John  appears,  with  Escovedo  be- 
hind him.) 

Voice  of  Don  John  op  Austria. 

I  am  the  dead; 
I  am  your  brother,  Philip  —  brother  John. 

Philip. 
You  corpse-fetch  from  the  unclean  grave, 

begone ! 
I  had  no  brother. 


26  PHILIP   THE  KING 

Don  John. 
Would  you  never  had! 

Philip. 
You  were  a  landmark  of  my  father's  sin, 
Never  my  brother. 

Don  John. 

I  was  that  bright  lad, 

Your  father's  son,  my  brother;    I  helped 

win 

Great  glory  for  you,  Philip. 

Philip. 

I  agreed 

To  overlook  your  bastardy,  my  friend, 

So  long  as  your  bright  talents  served  my 

need; 

But  you  presumed,  and  so  it  had  to  end. 

Don  John. 
My  talents  served  you  well. 

Philip. 

They  did,  at  first. 


PHILIP  THE  KING  27 

Don  John. 
I  won  the  Battle  of  Lepanto  for  you. 

Philip. 
And  afterwards  you  killed  my  troops  with 

thirst, 

Following  a  crazy  scheme  which  overbore 

you. 

Don  John. 

Not  crazy,  unsuccessful. 

Philip. 

Poor  vain  ghost, 

Poor    flickering    candle    that    was    bright 

awhile. 

Don  John. 

I  was  the  man  whom  Europe  worshipped 

most, 
One  with  a  mighty  plan  which  you  thought 

guile. 
Why  did  you  kill  me,  Philip? 

Philip. 
You  betrayed  me, 

Or  would  have,  traitor,  had  I  not  been  wise, 


28  PHILIP   THE  KING 

Don  John. 
I  was  your  board's  best  piece,  you  should 

have  played  me, 
Now  I  am  dead  and  earth  is  in  my  eyes. 
I   could   have   won   you   England.    I   had 

planned 
To  conquer  England.     I  had  all  prepared 
Ships,  soldiers,  money,  but  your  cruel  hand 
Killed  me,   and  nothing's  done  and  noth- 
ing's dared. 

Philip. 
You  planned  to  conquer  England  and  be 

King; 

Those  who  obstruct  my  path  I  sweep  aside. 

Don  John. 
Brother,  there  is  a  time  for  everything; 

That    was    the    time    for    England,    but 

I  died ; 

Now  you  attempt  too  late, 

The  powers  have  closed  the  gate, 


PHILIP   THE  KING  29 

Destiny  enters  by  another  door, 
The  lost  chance  comes  no  more. 

The  Voice  of  Escovedo. 
Philip,  he  tells  the  truth.    We  could  have 

won 
England  for  you,  we  were  no  plotters  then. 

Voices. 
Philip,  you  were  betrayed,  you  were  un- 
done. 
You  had  the  moment,  but  you  killed  the 

men. 

Escovedo. 
The    liar,    Perez,    tricked    you.    O    great 

King! 
We  would  have   added   England   to   your 

crown, 
Now  the  worms  cling 
About  our  lips  deep  down. 
You   had   me   stabbed   at   midnight   going 

home 


30  PHILIP  THE  KING 

That  man  of   Perez'   stabbed    me  in    the 

back. 
And  then  I  could  not  stir,  down  on  the 

loam; 
The  sky  was  full  of  blood,  the  stars  were 

black. 
And   then   I   knew  my  wife  and   children 

waited 
But  that  I  could  not  come ;  a  moving  hand 
Had  interposed  a  something  fated 
'Twixt  us  and  what  we  planned. 

Don  John. 
You  had  me  poisoned  in  that  Holland  den, 

Outcast,  alone,  without  the  help  of  men. 

We  planned  a  glorious  hour 

Hoisting  the  banner  of  Spain 

On  the  top  of  London  Tower, 

With  England  a  Spanish  fief. 

Life  cannot  happen  again, 

And  doing  dies  with  the  brain; 


PHILIP  THE  KING  31 

Autumn  ruins  the  flower 
And  after  the  flower  the  leaf. 

Voices. 
Philip,  Philip,  Philip! 
The  evil  men  do  has  strength, 
It  gathers  behind  the  veils 
While  the  unjust  thing  prevails. 
While  the  pride  of  life  is  strong, 
But  the  balance  tips  at  length, 
And  the  unjust  things  are  tales, 
The  pride  of  life  is  a  song. 

Philip. 
I  kept  my  purpose  while  you  lived.    Shall  I 
Be  weaker,  now  that  you  are  dead,  you 

things  ? 
What  can  such  reedy  wretches  do  but  die 
Standing  against  the  purposes  of  Kings? 

Don  John. 
Do?    We  can  thwart  you. 


32  PHILIP  THE  KING 

Voices. 

And  we  will,  we  will; 
All  Spain's  unjustly  murdered  work  you  ill. 
Gather    against    him,    gather,    mock    him 
down. 

The  Voice   of   the   Marquis   of   Santa 

Cruz. 
Scatter,    you    shadows,   fly.    Philip,    great 

King. 
You  vultures  gathered  in  an  unclean  ring ; 
Away,  you  shadows,  scatter. 
They  are  gone, 

Philip. 

The  Marquis  enters. 

Philip. 
Who  calls? 

Santa  Cruz. 
Master. 

Philip. 

Let  me  dream  on. 

Whose  voice  was  that?    It  warned  me  of 

defeat. 


PHILIP   THE  KING  33 

Santa  Cruz. 
I  am  that  Santa  Cruz  who  built  your  fleet, 

And   died   to   make  it   good.     It  was  my 

child. 

I  call  because  my  work  has  been  defiled. 

Philip. 
Why  rail,  uneasy  soul? 

Santa  Cruz. 

If  I  had  spent 

Less  life  in  that,  I  should  be  still  alive, 

Commanding  what  I  built  to  my  content, 

Driving  the  English   slaves   as   conquerors 

drive. 
Why  did  you  give  away  my  splendid  sword, 
Forged    by    a    never-conquered    captain's 

brain, 
Into  the  hoof-hand  of  an  ambling  lord, 
Useless  in  all  things,  but  to  ruin  Spain? 
Would  God  I  had  but  guessed  it!    Would 

my  stars 

D 


34  PHILIP  THE  KING 

Had  shown  me  clearer  what  my  death 
would  bring, 

I  would  have  burned  those  galleons,  guns 
and  spars, 

Soldiers  and  all,  and  so  have  stopped  this 
thing. 

And  doing  that  I  should  have  served  you 
well, 

And  brought  less  ruin  on  this  lovely  land. 

What  folly  from  the  unfed  brain  of  hell 

Made  you  promote  that  thing  to  my  com- 
mand ?  — 

Folly  from  which  so  many  men  must  die. 

Philip. 
We  stand  against  all  comers,  Time  and  I. 

I  chose  the  Duke  because  I  wanted  one  .  .  . 
Who  .  .  . 

Santa  Ceuz. 
Give  no  reason  for  the  evil  done. 

Souls  wrestle  from  the  ever  deedless  grave 


PHILIP   THE  KING  35 

To  do,  not  to  hear  reason.     Oh,  great  King, 
You  still  may  save  the  ruin  of  this  thing! 

Philip. 
You  speak  of  ruin.    Tell  me  what  you  see. 

Santa  Cruz. 
Ruin  that  threatens,  but  need  never  be. 
Be  silent,  Philip;    listen  while  I  tell 
What  you  must  do. 

Philip. 
You  are  a  voice  from  hell; 
I  will  not  listen  to  these  obscene  dreams. 

Santa  Cruz. 
Life  is  a  heavy  cloud,  through  which  come 

gleams. 
Oh,  Philip,  let  me  speak!    Philip,  I  say, 
One  way  can  still  be  tried;   I  see  the  way. 
You  must  do  this,  but  listen. 

Philip. 

I  still  doubt. 


36  PHILIP   THE   KING 

Santa  Cruz. 
Listen,  great  King;    the  light  is  dying  out. 

You  are  fading  from  me,  Philip;    they  are 

coming. 

Before  it  is  too  late  for  ever  send  .  .  . 

Philip. 
Send? 

Santa  Cruz. 
Yes. 

Philip. 
To  whom? 

Santa  Cruz. 
To  .  .  . 

Voices. 
Drown  his  voice  with  drumming; 

Pipe  with  the  Inca  conch,  the  Indian  flute. 
What  red  flowers  spring  from  this  blood- 
sprinkled  root ! 

Philip. 
What  name  was  that  you  said? 

Santa  Cruz. 
Wait,  Philip  —  wait; 

They  are  so  many  and  so  full  of  hate. 


PHILIP   THE   KING  37 

Voices. 
Call  to  your  monarch,  Marquis  —  call  again. 

Philip. 
Something  he   meant   is   knocking   at   my 

brain  — 

Knocking  for  entrance.    Marquis! 

Santa  Cruz. 
Philip!    King! 

Philip. 
What  must  I  do? 

Santa  Cruz. 
Oh,  fiends! 

Voices. 
Ah,  conquerors,  sing! 

Now  we  have  triumphed. 

We  have  torn  the  flag. 

Dance  in  a  ring,  victorious  spirits,  dance ; 

Brought  to  a  byword  is  the  Spanish  brag, 

And  ruined  is  the  grand  inheritance. 

Mourn,  wretched  Philip,  for  your  plans  are 

checked ; 


38  PHILIP    THE   KING 

Your  colonies  defenceless ;  your  sweet  faith 
Mocked   by   the  heretics;  your   ships   are 

wrecked ; 
The  strength  of  Spain  has  dwindled  to  a 

wraith. 
Aha !  you  beaten  King,  you  blinded  fool ! 
Scream,  for  the  empire  tumbles  from  your 

rule. 

Philip. 
God  will  deliver  me ;  you  are  but  words 

Called  in  the  night-time  by  malignant  birds 

But  who  are  you? 

The  figure  of  De  Leyva  enters. 

Voice  of  De  Leyva. 
I  am  De  Leyva,  come 
Out  of  the  sea,  my  everlasting  home, 
To  whisper  comfort  to  my  ruined  friend. 
Dear,  I  am  dead,  but  friendship  cannot  end ; 
Love  does  not  die,  and  I  am  with  you  here. 
Often  in  sorrow  you  will  feel  me  near, 


PHILIP    THE   KING  39 

Feel  me,  but  never  speak,  nor  hear  me  speak. 

Philip,  whatever  bitter  Fate  may  wreak 

On  Spain  and  you,  remember  I  am  here, 

The  dead  are  bound  to  those  they  held  most 

dear. 

Philip. 

Dreams  of  the  night.    I  dreamed  De  Leyva 

came. 

Voices. 

Awake  to  hear  the  story  of  your  shame. 

{They  cry.    A  gun  is  shot  off.    Bells.) 

Philip. 
(Rousing.)    I  dreamed  I  was  defeated  like 

those  men 

Whom  I  defeated;   I  have  felt  their  woe. 

What  is  this  noise?    A  message? 

Enter  then. 
Princess. 

A  prisoner  comes  with  news  of  victory. 

Philip. 
So. 

Victory  comes!    We  win! 


40  PHILIP   THE   KING 

Princess. 
The  fleet  has  won! 

Philip. 
Thanks  be  to  God  on  high. 

Princess. 
His  will  be  done. 

Philip. 
Lord,  help  me  use  this  victory  for  Thy  praise. 

Lord,  Thou  hast  burst  this  night  of  many 

days 

With  glorious  morning  and  my  heart  is  full. 

O  God,  my  God,  Thy  ways  are  wonderful ! 

Bring  me  the  prisoner. 

Princess. 

He  brought  this  letter. 

An  Englishman  is  brought  in. 

Philip. 
You  are  an  Englishman? 

Prisoner. 
Yes,  your  Majesty. 


PHILIP   THE   KING  41 

Philip. 
This  letter  says  that  you  can   tell  me 
how    things    have    fared.    Tell    me    your 
story. 

Prisoner. 
I  was  at  sea,  my  lord,  fishing,  some  fifteen 
miles  south-west  from  Falmouth.  We  were 
not  expecting  the  Spanish  fleet,  our  cruisers 
had  said  it  was  not  coming.  It  was  hazy 
summer  weather  and  early  morning.  We 
could  hear  that  we  were  among  a  big  fleet, 
and  when  the  haze  lifted  your  ships  were  all 
round  us,  so  we  were  taken  aboard  an  ad- 
miral's ship.  A  dark  man  the  admiral  was, 
with  a  very  quick  way ;  he  was  not  the  chief 
admiral,  but  an  Admiral  Recalde,  with  the 
rearguard. 

Philip. 
Where  was  the  English  fleet  at  that  time? 
Was  it  expecting  us? 


42  PHILIP    THE   KING 

Prisoner. 
No,  your  honour.     It  was  windbound  in 
Plymouth,  unprepared,  as  I  told  your  ad- 
miral.   Then  I  was  taken  down  below. 

Philip. 
Did  our  fleet  enter  Plymouth,  then  ? 

Prisoner. 

No,  my  lord,  and  I  could  not  think  why, 
for  the  wind  held  and  they  had  only  to  sail 
straight  in.    The  day  passed. 

The  next  day  there  was  firing,  and  I 
thought  "The  English  have  got  out  of  the 
trap  at  least,' '  but  the  firing  died  down,  and 
I  concluded  the  English  were  beaten. 

Philip. 
Yes? 

Prisoner. 

I  thought  the  ships  would  put  ashore  then 

to  take  what  they  had  won,  but  they  kept 

at  sea  some  days,  though  there  was  firing 

every  day,  sometimes  very  heavy.    They  said 


PHILIP   THE  KING  43 

they  were  burning  all  the  English  towns 
as  they  passed,  and  then  going  to  France  to 
fetch  an  army ;  and  after  some  nights  I  was 
brought  ashore  in  Calais  to  come  to  your 

Majesty. 

Philip. 
What  did  you  see  in  Calais? 

Prisoner. 
It  was  dark  night,  my  lord,  when  they  sent 
me  in.    I  saw  the  road  full  of  shipping,  lit 
up  like  a  town. 

Philip. 
What  was  the  feeling  among  you  English 
prisoners?    That   the  Spaniards  had   pros- 
pered ? 

Prisoner. 

Yes,  my  lord.  You  had  reached  your 
army,  which  was  all  your  intent.  You  had 
only  to  take  it  across  the  Channel ;  the  wind 
was  fair  for  that. 


44  PHILIP   THE   KING 

Philip. 
So  then  you  started  for  Spain.     You  know 

no  more  of  what  happened  ? 

Prisoner. 
No,  my  lord,   except  that  looking  back 

from  a  hilltop,  I  saw  a  great  glare  over 
Calais. 

Philip. 
Something  was  burning  there? 

Prisoner. 
It  was  the  bonfires,  my  lord,  to  give  them 

light;     they    were    embarking    the    army. 

Then  in  France  later  on  we  heard  that  Drake 

had  been  sunk  off  Calais  with  fifteen  ships. 

A  man  said  he  had  seen  it.    That  is  all  I 

know,  my  lord. 

Philip. 
What  you  say  will  be  proved.     You  will 

be  returned  to  England,.    Treat  this  man 

well.  .  [Exit  Prisoner. 


PHILIP   THE   KING  45 

Princess. 
Father,  what  blessed  news! 

Philip. 

We  have  not  failed  ; 
But  then  he  hardly  knew.     The  letter  here 
Shows  that  our  navy  partly  has  prevailed. 

Princess. 
The  news  has  spread. 

Cries  Without. 
Long  live  King  Philip!    Cheer! 

Cries. 
Cheer  our  great  King !    Long  live  our  noble 

King. 

Beat  "Santiago,"  drummers. 

Princess. 

Hark!  they  sing. 

The  court  is  dark  with  people,  but  more 
come. 

Cries. 
Long  live  King  Philip! 


46  PHILIP    THE   KING 

A  Great  Voice. 

Silence  for  the  drum! 

And  when  the  drum  beats,  we  will  lift  our 

thanks 
Till  his  heart  triumphs. 

Silence  in  the  ranks! 
Eyes  front !  O  people,  listen !  Our  attempt 
Has  triumphed  more  than  our  desires  dreamt. 
England    is    ours.      Give    thanks.      Sound 

trumpets.    Sing ! 

Cries. 
Philip,    Philip   the    King!    God   save   the 

King! 

Philip  the  conqueror!    Philip! 

(A  strange  cry.) 

Princess. 

Oh,  look!  look!  .  .  . 

Just  as  they  cheered,  the  palace  banners 

shook, 

They  took  it  for  a  sign. 


PHILIP    THE   KING  47 

The  guards  are  there, 
Look,  and  the  monks  are  forming  in  the 

square 
Bringing  the  blessed  relics.    Oh,  my  dear! 
I  am  so  happy.     Listen  how  they  cheer. 
Father,  they're  cheering  because  Spain  has 

won. 
All  you  have  hoped  and  striven  for  is  done. 
I  hardly  dare  believe  it. 

Ckies. 

Long  live  Spain. 

Pkincess. 
O,  there  are  horsemen,  I  must  look  again ! 

Ckies. 
There  is  the  Princess  at  the  window.    See? 

God  save  you,  little  lady.    Which  is  she? 

There.    Is  the  King  there?    No.    He  must 

be.    Yes. 
God  save  your  Grace.    He's  there  with  the 

Princess. 


48  PHILIP   THE  KING 

Philip. 
Stand  farther  back;  they  saw  you. 

Princess. 

Oh,  not  now! 

They  called  'God  save  me/  father;  let  me 

bow. 

Philip. 

Bow,  then,  my  dear. 

Cries. 
God  save  your  pretty  face. 

Princess. 
Father,  do  come,  they  want  you. 

Cries. 

Bless  your  Grace. 

God  save  the  King  —  King  Philip. 

Princess. 

Father  dear, 

They're  calling  for  you;    stand  beside  me 

here. 

Philip. 

Not  yet.     It  is  not  time. 


PHILIP   THE   KING  49 

Cries. 
Philip  the  King! 

Princess. 
Oh,  father,  come !    It  is  a  thrilling  thing 

To  know  they  won,  and  hear  these  shouts  of 

praise. 

Cries. 
God  save  the  King!    God  send  him  many 

days! 

Philip  the  King,  the  conqueror  of  the  sea ! 

St.  James  for  Spain,  King  Philip,  victory ! 

King  Philip!    Santiago! 

Princess. 

Father. 

Philip. 

Wait! 

Kings  must  not  yield  them  at  too  cheap  a 

rate. 

Voices. 
Philip  the  King !     The  English  are  destroyed  ! 

God  save  him !    Victory !     We  are  o ver j  oyed ! 


50  PHILIP   THE   KING 

Let  the  bells  ring!     King  Philip!  Philip! 

King! 
Ring  the  Cathedral  bells  —  ay,  let  them  ring ! 
St.  James  for  Spain!    King  Philip!    Clear 

the  guns !  (Guns  shot  off.) 

King  Philip,  fire  —  fire  all  at  once! 
King  Philip,  fire!    King  Philip,  fire!    St. 

James  ! 
Thank  God,  the  King  of  kings,  the  Name  of 

names ! 
Fire,  King  Philip !    Santiago,  fire ! 
Give  thanks  to  God  who  gives  us  our  desire ! 
Philip,  God  save  and  bless  him ! 

Philip  (going  to  window). 
I  will  speak. 

Voices. 
Fire !    He's  there !    King  Philip ! 

Philip. 

Man  is  weak. 

Voices. 
He's  there! 


PHILIP    THE   KING  51 

Princess. 
Oh,  father,  look! 

Philip. 

Stand  at  my  side. 

Voices. 
God  bless  and  guard  our  blessed  country's 

guide ! 

King  Philip,  fire!    The  King! 

(The  bells  begin.) 
Princess. 

Oh,  bells  of  joy! 

And  now  the  monks  are  singing. 

The  Monks. 
Let  us  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord  of  lords, 
Who  saves  His  faithful  from  the  Egyptian 

swords. 

Voices. 

Amen.    God  save  the  King. 

The  Monks. 
He  made  the  Red  Sea  waters  to  divide, 

And  led  our  Israel  through  with  Him  for  guide. 


52  PHILIP   THE   KING 

Voices. 
Amen.    God   save   the   King!    Philip   the 

King! 

Philip. 

O  God,  I  thank  Thee  for  this  marvellous 

thing. 

The  Monks. 

He  whelmed  King  Pharaoh's  army  in  the  sea, 
And  of  His  mercy  gave  us  victory. 

Voices. 
The  famous  kings  are  blown,  like  chaff 

Before  Thy  fiery  car. 

Thou  smit'st  th'  ungodly  with  Thy  staff  .  .  . 

Philip   the  King!    God   save  our  prudent 

King! 

Philip. 

My  subjects,  whom  God  gave  me  for  His 

ends  .  .  . 

Princess. 

Whatever  pain  you  bore,  this  makes  amends. 

Voices. 
Speak  to  your  loving  hearts,  your  Majesty. 


PHILIP   THE  KING  53 

Philip. 
I  do  His  will;   to  God  the  glory  be. 

The  Monks. 
Praise  Him,  0  sun  and  moon,  morning  and 

evening  star! 
The  kings  who  mocked  His  word  are  broken 

in  the  war. 
Praise  Him  with  heart  and  soul!    Praise 

Him  with  voice  and  lute! 

Voices. 
The  King!    God  save  the  King!    Silence! 

He  speaks.    Salute! 

The  Monks. 
In  the  dark  night,  ere  dawn,  we  will  arise 

and  sing 

Glory  to  God  on  high,  the  praises  of  our  King. 

Voices. 
The  King  is  going  to  speak.    He  makes  a 

sign. 

God  bless  your  noble  Grace  and  all  your  line ! 


54  PHILIP   THE   KING 

God  bless  you,  Sir,  for  all  your  thought  for  us ! 

The  conquering  King,  Philip  victorious ! 

Philip  the  great  and  good !    Hush !    Silence ! 

Peace ! 

Philip!    Attention!    Bid  the  ringers  cease. 

The  King  is  going  to  speak;  he  raised  his 

hand. 

Princess. 
Dear,  to  be  loved  as  you  are  is  most  grand. 

Speak  to  them,  father ;  thank  them  for  their 

love. 

The  Monks. 

I  will  exalt  the  Name  of  God  above. 

Voices. 
The  bells  are  hushed.    Be  quiet!    Silence 

all! 

Philip. 
I  thought  I  heard,  far  off,  a  funeral  call; 

As  in  your  dream,  a  melancholy  cry. 

Princess. 
It  was  the  fifes. 


PHILIP   THE   KING  55 

Philip. 
No;  listen! 

Peincess. 

That  sound? 

Philip. 

Ay. 

Peincess. 
It  was  the  crowd  outside.    Now  they  are 

still. 

Philip. 

No ;  it  was  singing  coming  up  the  hill  — 

Sad  singing,  too. 

Peincess. 

I  did  not  hear  it. 

Philip. 

There ! 
Peincess. 

The  bells  have  left  a  trembling  in  the  air. 

Philip. 
No;  it  was  voices.     I  will  speak  one  word 

To  these  below.    There  is  the  noise  I  heard 

(Recalde's  men  are  heard  singing.) 


56  PHILIP    THE   KINO 

Recalde's  Men. 
Out  of  the  deep,  out  of  the  deep,  we  come, 

Preserved  from  death  at  sea  to  die  at  home. 

Mercy  of  God  alone  preserved  us  thus  ; 

In  the  waste  sea  Death  laid  his  hand  on  us. 

Princess. 
The  Black  Monks  in  a  penitential  psalm. 

Voices. 
Philip  the  King ! 

Philip. 
I'll  wait. 

Princess. 

Oh,  speak! 

Philip. 

Be  calm! 

I  cannot  cross  God's  word  with  words  of 

mine. 

Voices. 

Quiet,  you  singers! 

Princess. 

They  are  men  in  line. 
(Recalde's  men  are  heard  singing.) 


PHILIP   THE   KING  57 

Recalde's  Men. 

We  called  the  world  too  small  with  boast- 
ful lips; 

Now  we  are  ghosts  crawled  from  the  bones 
of  ships. 

We  were  most  glorious  at  our  setting  sail; 

Now  our  knees  knock,  our  broken  spirits  fail. 

Our  banner  is  abased  and  all  our  pride: 

A  tale  of  ships  that  sank  and  men  who  died. 

Pkincess. 
Listen!    Who  are  they? 

Philip. 

What  is  it  they  sing? 

Voices. 
The    King    is    speaking.    Silence    for    the 

King! 
Let  the  King  speak;   be  still.    You  ragged 

crew, 
Have  you  no  manners  ?    Silence !    Who  are 

you? 


58  PHILIP   THE   KING 

Recalde's  Men. 
We  are  the  beaten  men,  the  men  accursed, 

Whose  bitter  glory  'tis  t'  have  borne  the 

worst. 

Princess. 

They  are  not  monks. 

Philip. 
Nor  beggars. 

Princess. 

Now  they  stand. 

Voices. 
Yon    navy's    sweepings    driven    back    to 

land. 
Go  to  the  hens  and  tunnies;    beat  them 

down 
Back  to  the  sea  you  ran  from;    back  and 

drown. 

Recalde's  Men. 
Pity  our  shame,  you  untried  heroes  here. 
Defeat's   not   victory,    but    'tis   bought   as 

dear. 


PHILIP    THE   KING  59 

Philip. 
They  are  sailors  from  the  fleet. 

Princess. 

They  come  with  news. 

They  are  ragged  to  the  skin,  they  have  no 

shoes. 

Philip. 
The  crowd  is  still. 

Princess. 
Why  do  they  come  like  this? 

Philip. 
Listen ;  their  Captain  tells  them  what  it  is. 

Recalde's  Men. 
Darken  the  bedrooms  for  us,  people  all, 

And  let  us  turn  our  faces  to  the  wall, 

And  let  the  darkness  and  the  silence  make 

A   quiet   time   in   which   our   hearts   may 

break. 

(A  murmur  runs  through  the  Court.) 

Princess. 
Father,  what  is  it? 


60  PHILIP    THE   KING 

Philip. 

Child,  the  Act  of  One 

Who    chastens   earthly   kings,    whose   Will 

be  done. 

Princess. 

It  means  that  we  are  beaten? 

Philip. 

Who  can  tell? 

Princess. 
Father. 

Philip. 

Dear  child,  even  defeat  is  well. 

Princess. 
I  thought  that  we  were  happy. 

Philip. 

Watch  the  square. 

Now  tell  me  calmly  what  is  passing  there. 

Princess. 
The  Captain  comes,  the  crowd  is  making 

way. 

Philip. 

Who  is  it?    Can  you  see? 


PHILIP   THE   KING  61 

Princess. 

His  hair  is  grey. 
He  walks  bareheaded,  slowly,  and  the  crowd 
Shrink  as   though   Death   were  passing  in 
his  shroud. 

Philip. 
Worse  news  has  come.    Who  is  the  man? 

Princess. 
His  face  .  .  . 

I  seem  to  know  him,  but  the  air  is  strange. 

He  puts  the  touch  of  Death  upon  the  place. 

Nothing  but  Death  could  fashion  such  a 

change. 
He    carries    something.     Now    the    people 

kneel. 
We  are  defeated,  Father. 

Philip. 

What  I  feel 

I  cover.    Go  within.    Misfortune  stuns 

None  but  the  tender.  [Exit  Princess 


62  PHILIP   THE   KING 

Voices. 

Give  us  back  our  sons. 
Philip,  give  back  our  sons,  our  lovely  sons. 

The  Palace  Guard. 
Halt!    Who  comes  there? 

A  Voice. 
Spain  and  the  Empire. 

The  Guard. 

Pass, 

Spain  and  the  Empire. 

Voices. 
They  are  drowned.    Alas! 

Philip,  give  back  our  sons,  our  lovely  sons. 

Enter   Messenger,    carrying   an   Admiral's 
chain. 

Philip. 
What  brings  you  to  me,  Captain? 

Messenger. 

This  gold  chain  .  .  . 

Bears  the  twelve  badges  of  the  strength  of 

Spain 


PHILIP    THE   KING  63 

Once    linked    in    glory,    Philip,    but    now 

loosed. 

(Detaching  link  from  link.) 

Castilla,  Leon,  Aragon,  and  these, 

Palestine,  Portugal,  the  Sicilies, 

Navarre,  Granada,  the  Valencian  State, 

The  Indies,  East  and  West,  the  Archducate, 

The  Western  Mainland  in  the  Ocean  Sea. 

Those    who    upheld    their    strength    have 

ceased  to  be. 

I,  who  am  dying,  King,  have  seen  their  graves. 

Philip,  your  Navy  is  beneath  the  waves. 

Philip. 
He  who  in  bounty  gives  in  wisdom  takes. 

Messenger. 

0  King,  forgive  me,  for  my  spirit  breaks; 

1  saw  those  beaches  where  the  Grange  de- 

scends 
White   with   unburied   corpses   of   stripped 
friends. 


64  PHILIP    THE   KING 

Philip. 
I  grieve  that  Spain's  disaster  brings  such 

loss. 

Messenger. 
From  Pentland  to  the  Groyne  the  tempests 

toss 
Unshriven  Spaniards  driving  with  the  tide. 
They  were  my  lovely  friends  and  they  have 

died, 
Far    from    wind-broken    Biscay,    far    from 

home, 
With  no  anointing  chrism  but  the  foam. 

Philip. 
The  dead  will  rise  from  unsuspected  slime ; 

God's  chosen  will  be  gathered  in  God's  time. 

Messenger. 
King,  they  died  helpless ;    our  unwieldy  fleet 

Made  such  a  target  to  the  English  guns 

That  we  were  riddled  through  like  sifted 

wheat. 


PHILIP    THE   KING  65 

We  never   came   to   grappling   with   them 

once. 
They  raked  us  from  a  distance,  and  then 

ran. 
Each  village  throughout  Spain  has  lost  a 

man; 
The  widows  in  the  seaports  fill  the  streets. 

Philip. 
Uncertain  chance  decides  the  fate  of  fleets. 

Messenger. 
Now   the   North    Sea   is   haunted    for   all 

time 
By  miserable  souls  whose  dying  words 
Cursed  the  too  proud  adventure  as  a  crime. 
Our    broken    galleons    house    the    gannet- 

birds. 
The   Irish   burn   our   Captain's   bones   for 

lime. 
O    misery    that    the    might    of    England 

wrought ! 


66  PHILIP   THE   KING 

Philip. 
Christ  is  the  only  remedy  for  thought 

When    the   mind    sickens.    We   are   pieces 

played, 
Not   moving    as  we  will,  but    as  we    are 

made; 
Beaten  and  spurred  at  times  like  stubborn 

steeds, 
That  we  may  go  God's  way.    Your  spirit 

bleeds, 
Having  been  proved  in  trouble  past  her 

strength. 
Give  me  the  roll  in  all  its  ghastly  length.  \ 
Which  of  my  friends  survive,  if  any  live? 

Messenger. 
Some  have  survived,  but  all  are  fugitive. 

Your  Admiral  in  command  is  living  still; 

Michael  Oquendo  too,  though  he  is  ill, 

Dying  of  broken  heart  and  bitter  shame. 

Valdes  is  prisoner,  Manrique  the  same. 


PHILIP    THE   KING  67 

Philip. 
God  willed  the  matter;    they  are  not  to 

blame. 

Thank  God  that  they  are  living.    Name 

the  rest. 

Messengee. 
They  are  all  dead  .  .  .  with  him  you  loved 
the  best. 

Philip. 
I  dreamed  De  Leyva  died,  so  it  is  true? 

Messenger. 
Drowned  on  the  Irish  coast  with  all  his 

crew. 
After  enduring  dying  many  days 
The  sea  has  given  him  quiet.    Many  ways 
Lead  men  to  death,   and  he  a  hard  one 

trod, 
Bearing  much  misery,  like  a  knight  of  God. 

Philip. 
Amen.    Go  on. 


68  PHILIP    THE   KING 

Messenger. 
Hugh  de  Moncada  died, 
Shot  in  his  burning  ship  by  Calais  side, 
Cheering  his  men  to  save  her.    Pimentel 
Sank  in  a  galleon  shambled  like  a  hell 
Rather  than  yield,  and  in  a  whirl  of  flames 
Pedro  Mendoza,  Captain  of  St.  James, 
Stood  with  Don  Philip  thrusting  boarders 

back 
Till  their  Toledan  armour  was  burnt  black, 
And  both  their  helms  ran  blood.    And  there 

they  fell, 
Shot  down  to  bleed  to  death.    They  per- 
ished well, 
Happy  to  die  in  battle  for  their  King 
Before  defeat  had  fallen  on  their  friends; 
Happier  than  most,  for  where  the  merrows 

sing 
Paredes  and  his  brother  met  their  ends, 
And  Don  Alarcon,  cast  alive  ashore, 


PHILIP   THE   KING  69 

Was  killed  and  stripped  and  hanged  upon  a 
tree. 

And  young  Mendoza,  whom  the  flagship 
bore, 

Died  of  starvation  and  of  misery. 

But  hundreds  perished,  King;  why  men- 
tion these? 

Battle  and  hunger,  heart-break,  and  the 
seas 

Have  overwhelmed  the  chivalry  of  Spain. 

Philip. 
Misfortune,  after  effort,  brings  no  stain. 

Perhaps  I  under  judged  the  English  fleet. 

How  was  it  that  the  Spaniards  met  defeat? 

What  evil  fortune  brought  about  our  fall? 

Messenger. 
Their  sailors  and  their  cannon  did  it  all. 

Philip. 
Yet  when  the  fleet  reached  Calais  all  went 

well. 


70  PHILIP   THE   KINO 

Messenger. 
Our  woes  began  there. 

Philip. 
Tell  me  what  befell. 

Messenger. 
We  were  to  ship  the  troops  in  Calais  Road ; 
They  lay  encamped,  prepared  to  go  aboard. 
To  windward  still  the  English  fleet  abode  — 
Still  as  in  port  when  peace  has  been  restored. 

The  wind  and  sea  were  fair, 
We  lay  at  anchor  there; 
The  stars  burned  in  the  air, 
The  men  were  sleeping, 
When  in  the  midnight  dark 
Our  watchman  saw  a  spark 
Suddenly  light  a  bark 
With  long  flames  leaping. 

Then,  as  they  stood  amazed, 
Others  and  others  blazed; 


PHILIP   THE  KING  71 

Then  terror  set  them  crazed, 

They  ran  down  screaming: 

" Fire-ships  are  coming!    Wake 

Cast  loose,  for  Jesus7  sake! 

Eight  fire-ships  come  from  Drake  — 

Look  at  their  gleaming!" 

Roused  in  the  dark  from  bed, 
We  saw  the  fire  show  red, 
And  instant  panic  spread 
Through  troops  and  sailors; 
They  swarmed  on  deck  unclad, 
They  did  what  terror  bade, 
King,  they  were  like  the  mad 
Escaped  from  jailers. 

Some  prayed  for  mercy,  some 
Rang  bells  or  beat  the  drum, 
As  though  despair  had  come 
At  hell's  contriving; 


72  PHILIP   THE   KING 

Captains  with  terror  pale 
Screamed  through  the  dark  their  hail, 
"Cut  cable,  loose  the  sail, 
And  set  all  driving !" 

Heading  all  ways  at  once, 
Grinding  each  other's  guns, 
Our  blundering  galleons 
Athwart-hawse  galleys, 
Timbers  and  plankings  cleft, 
And  half  our  tackling  reft, 
Your  grand  Armada  left 
The  roads  of  Calais. 

Weary  and  overwrought 
We  strove  to  make  all  taut; 
But  when  the  morning  brought 
The  dawn  to  light  us, 
Drake,  with  the  weather  gage, 
Made  signal  to  engage, 


PHILIP   THE   KING  73 

And,  like  a  pard  in  rage, 
Bore  down  to  fight  us. 

Nobly  the  English  line 
Trampled  the  bubbled  brine; 
We  heard  the  gun-trucks  whine 
To  the  taut  laniard. 
Onwards  we  saw  them  forge, 
White  billowing  at  the  gorge. 
"On,  on!"  they  cried,  "St.  George! 
Down  with  the  Spaniard!" 

From  their  van  squadron  broke 
A  withering  battle-stroke, 
Tearing  our  plank&d  oak 
By  straiks  asunder, 
Blasting  the  wood  like  rot 
With  such  a  hail  of  shot, 
So  constant  and  so  hot 
It  beat  us  under. 


74  PHILIP   THE   KINO 

The  English  would  not  close; 
They  fought  us  as  they  chose, 
Dealing  us  deadly  blows 
For  seven  hours. 
Lords  of  our  chiefest  rank 
The  bitter  billow  drank, 
For  there  the  English  sank 
Three  ships  of  ours. 

***** 

Then  the  wind  forced  us  northward  from 
the  fight; 

We  could  not  ship  the  army  nor  return; 

We  held  the  sea  in  trouble  through  the  night, 

Watching  the  English  signals  blink  and  burn. 

The  English  in  a  dim  cloud  kept  astern; 

All  night  they  signalled,  while  our  shattered 

ships 
Huddled  like  beasts  beneath  the  drovers' 

whips. 
***** 


PHILIP    THE   KING  75 

At  dawn  the  same  wind  held;    we  could 

not  strive. 
The  English  drove  us  north  as  herdsmen 

drive. 
***** 

Under  our  tattered  flags, 
With  rigging  cut  to  rags, 
Our  ships  like  stricken  stags 
Were  heaped  and  hounded. 
Caught  by  the  unknown  tide, 
With  neither  chart  nor  guide, 
We  fouled  the  Holland  side, 
Where  four  more  grounded. 

Our  water-casks  were  burst, 
The  horses  died  of  thirst, 
The  wounded  raved  and  curst, 
Uncared,  untended. 
All  night  we  heard  the  crying 
Of  lonely  shipmates  dying; 


76  PHILIP   THE   KING 

We  had  to  leave  them  lying. 
So  the  fight  ended. 

Philip. 
God  gives  His  victory  as  He  wills.    But 

this 
Was     not     complete     destruction.    What 

thing  worse 
Game  to  destroy  you? 

Messenger. 

An  avenging  curse, 
Due  for  old  sins,  destroyed  us. 

Philip. 

Tell  the  tale. 

Messenger. 
0  King,  when  morning  dawned  it  blew  a 

gale, 

But  still  the  English  followed,  and  we  fled 

Till  breakers  made  the  dirty  waters  pale. 

We  saw  the  Zealand  sandbanks  right  ahead, 

Blind  in  a  whirling  spray  that  gave  us  dread ; 


PHILIP    THE   KING  77 

For  we  were  blown  there,  and  the  water 

shoaled. 
The  crying  of  the  leadsmen  at  the  lead, 
Calling    the    soundings,    were    our    death- 
bells  tolled. 

We  drifted  down  to  death  upon  the  sands  — 

The  English  drew  away  to  watch  us  drown ; 

We    saw    the    bitter    breakers    with    grey 
hands 

Tear  the  dead  body  of  the  sandbank  brown. 

We  could  do  nothing,  so  we  drifted  down 

Singing   the   psalms   for   death  —  we   who 
had  been 

Lords  of  the  sea  and  knights  of  great  re- 
nown, 

Doomed  to  be  strangled  by  a  death  un- 
clean. 

Philip. 

So  there  the  ships  were  wrecked? 


78  PHILIP   THE   KING 

Messenger. 

Time  had  not  struck. 
0    King,    we   learned   how   blessed   mercy 

saves : 
Even    as    our    forefoot    grounded    on    the 

muck, 
Tripping  us  up  to  drown  us  in  the  waves, 
A  sudden  windshift  snatched  us  from  our 

graves 
And  drove  us  north ;    and  now  another  woe, 
Tempest    unending,     beat    our    ships    to 

staves  — 
A  never-dying  gale  with  frost  and  snow. 

Now  our  hearts  failed,  for  food  and  water 

failed ; 
The  men  fell  sick  by  troops,  the  wounded 

died. 
They  washed  about  the  wet  decks  as  we 

sailed 


PHILIP    THE   KING  79 

For  want  of  strength  to  lift  them  overside. 
Desolate  seas  we  sailed,  so  grim,  so  wide, 
That    ship   by    ship    our    comrades    disap- 
peared. 
With  neither  sun  nor  star  to  be  a  guide, 
Like  spirits  of  the  wretched  dead  we  steered. 

Till,  having  beaten  through  the  Pentland 

Pass, 
We  saw  the  Irish  surf,  with  mists  of  spray 
Blowing  far  inland,  blasting  trees  and  grass, 
And  gave  God  thanks,  for  we  espied  a  bay 
Safe,  with  bright  water  running  down  the 

clay  — 
A  running  brook  where  we  could  drink  and 

drink. 
But    drawing    near,    our    ships    were    cast 

away, 
Bilged  on  the  rocks;   we  saw  our  comrades 

sink  .  .  . 


80  PHILIP   THE   KING 

Or  worse :  for  those  the  breakers  cast  ashore 
The  Irish  killed  and  stripped;   their  bodies 

white 
Lay    naked    to    the    wolves  —  yea,    sixty 

score  — 
All  down  the  windy  beach,  a  piteous  sight. 
The  savage  Irish  watched  by  bonfire  light 
Lest  more  should  come  ashore;    we  heard 

them  there 
Screaming  the  bloody  news  of  their  delight. 
Then  we  abandoned  hope  and  new  despair. 

And  now  the  fleet  is  sunken  in  the  sea, 
And  all  the  seamen,' all  the  might  of  Spain, 
Are  dead,  O  King,  and  out  of  misery, 
Never  to  drag  at  frozen  ropes  again  — 
Never  to  know  defeat,  nor  feel  the  pain 
Of  watching  dear  companions  sink  and  die. 
Death's  everlasting  armistice  to  the  brain 
Gives  their  poor  griefs  quietus ;  let  them  lie. 


PHILIP   THE   KING  81 

I,  like  a  ghost  returning  from  the  grave, 
Come  from  a  stricken  ship  to  tell  the  news 
Of    Spanish   honour   which   we    could    not 

save, 
Nor  win  again,  nor  even  die  to  lose; 
And  since  God's  hidden  wisdom  loves  to 

bruise 
Those  whom  He   loves,   we,    trembling   in 

despair, 
Will  watch  our  griefs  to  see  God's  finger 

there, 
And  make  His  will  our  solace  and  excuse. 

Defeat  is  bitter  and  the  truth  is  hard  — 
Spain  is  defeated,  England  has  prevailed; 
This  is  the  banner  which  I  could  not  guard, 
And    this    the    consecrated    sword    which 

failed. 
Do  with  your  dying  Captain  as  you  will. 
(He  lays  down  sword  and  banner.) 


82  PHILIP   THE   KING 

Philip. 
I,  from  my  heart,  thank  God,  from  whose 

great  hand 
I  am  so  helped  with  power,  I  can  still 
Set  out  another  fleet  against  that  land. 
Nor  do  I  think  it  ill 
If  all  the  running  water  takes  its  course 
While  there  are  unspent  fountains  at  the 

source. 

He    sendeth    out    His   word    and    melteth 

them. 
Take    back    your    standard,    Captain.    As 

you  go, 
Bid    the    bells    toll   and    let    the    clergy 

come. 
Then  in  the  city  by  the  strike  of  drum 
Proclaim  a  general  fast.    In  bitter  days 
The  soul  finds  God,  God  us. 

[Exit  Captain. 


PHILIP    THE   KING  83 

Philip  {alone). 

De  Leyva,  friend, 
Whom  I  shall  never  see,  never  again, 
This  misery  that  I  feel  is  over  Spain. 
O  God,  beloved  God,  in  pity  send 
That  blessed  rose  among  the  thorns  —  an 

end: 
Give  a  bruised  spirit  peace. 
(He  kneels.    A  muffled  march  of  the  drums.) 

Curtain. 


OTHER  POEMS 


THE  "WANDERER" 

All  day  they  loitered  by  the  resting  ships, 
Telling  their  beauties  over,  taking  stock; 
At  night  the  verdict  left  my  messmates' 

lips, 
"The  Wanderer  is  the  finest  ship  in  dock." 

I  had  not  seen  her,  but  a  friend,  since 

drowned, 
Drew  her,  with  painted  ports,  low,  lovely, 

lean, 
Saying,   "The   Wanderer,   clipper,   outward 

bound, 
The  loveliest  ship  my  eyes  have  ever  seen  — 

"Perhaps  to-morrow  you  will  see  her  sail. 

She  sails  at  sunrise" :  but  the  morrow  showed 
87 


88  THE  "WANDERER" 

No  Wanderer  setting  forth  for  me  to  hail ; 
Far  down  the  stream  men  pointed  where 
she  rode, 

Rode  the  great  trackway  to  the  sea,  dim, 

dim, 
Already  gone  before  the  stars  were  gone. 
I  saw  her  at  the  sea-line's  smoky  rim 
Grow  swiftly  vaguer  as  they  towed  her  on. 

Soon  even  her  masts  were  hidden  in  the  haze 
Beyond  the  city;  she  was  on  her  course 
To  trample  billows  for  a  hundred  days ; 
That  afternoon  the  norther  gathered  force, 

Blowing  a  small  snow  from  a  point  of  east. 
"Oh,  fair  for  her,"  we  said,  "to  take  her 

south." 
And  in  our  spirits,  as  the  wind  increased, 
We  saw  her  there,  beyond  the  river  mouth, 


THE   V WANDERER"  89 

Setting  her  side-lights  in  the  wildering  dark, 
To  glint  upon  mad  water,  while  the  gale 
Roared  like  a  battle,  snapping  like  a  shark, 
And   drunken   seamen   struggled  with   the 
sail. 

While  with  sick  hearts  her  mates  put  out  of 

mi^nd 
Their  little  children  left  astern,  ashore, 
And  the  gale's  gathering  made  the  darkness 

blind, 
Water  and  air  one  intermingled  roar. 

Then  we  forgot  her,  for  the  fiddlers  played, 
Dancing  and  singing  held  our  merry  crew; 
The  old  ship  moaned  a  little  as  she  swayed. 
It  blew  all  night,  oh,  bitter  hard  it  blew ! 

So  that  at  midnight  I  was  called  on  deck 
To  keep  an  anchor-watch :   I  heard  the  sea 


90  THE   "WANDERER" 

Roar  past  in  white  procession  filled  with 

wreck  ; 
Intense  bright  frosty  stars  burned  over  me, 

And  the  Greek  brig  beside  us  dipped  and 

dipped, 
White  to  the  muzzle  like  a  half-tide  rock, 
Drowned  to  the  mainmast  with  the  seas  she 

shipped ; 
Her  cable-swivels  clanged  at  every  shock. 

And  like  a  never-dying  force,  the  wind 
Roared  tijl  we  shouted  with  it,  roared  until 
Its  vast  vitality  of  wrath  was  thinned, 
Had  beat  its  fury  breathless  and  was  still. 

By  dawn  the  gale  had  dwindled  into  flaw, 
A  glorious  morning  followed :  with  my  friend 
I  climbed  the  fo'c's'le-head  to  see;  we  saw 
The  waters  hurrying  shore  wards  without  end. 


THE   "WANDERER"  91 

Haze  blotted  out  the  river's  lowest  reach; 
Out  of  the  gloom  the  steamers,  passing  by, 
Called  with  their  sirens,  hooting  their  sea- 
speech  ; 
Out  of  the  dimness  others  made  reply. 

And  as  we  watched,  there  came  a  rush  of 

feet 
Charging    the    fo'c's'le    till    the    hatchway 

shook. 
Men  all  about  us  thrust  their  way,  or  beat, 
Crying,  " The  Wanderer!    Down  the  river! 

Look!" 

I  looked  with  them  towards  the  dimness; 

there 
Gleamed  like  a  spirit  striding  out  of  night, 
A  full-rigged  ship  unutterably  fair, 
Her    masts    like    trees    in    winter,    frosty- 
bright. 


92  THE  V  WANDERER" 

Foam  trembled  at  her  bows  like  wisps  of 

wool  ; 
She   trembled    as   she   towed.    I   had   not 

dreamed 
That  work  of  man  could  be  so  beautiful, 
In  its  own  presence  and  in  what  it  seemed. 

"So,  she  is  putting  back  again/ '  I  said. 
"How  white  with  frost  her  yards  are  on  the 

fore." 
One  of  the  men  about  me  answer  made, 
"That   is  not  frost,   but  all   her  sails  are 

tore, 

"Torn  into  tatters,  youngster,  in  the  gale; 
Her  best  foul-weather  suit  gone."    It  was 

true, 
Her  masts  were  white  with  rags  of  tattered 

sail 
Many  as  gannets  when  the  fish  are  due. 


THE   "WANDERER"  93 

Beauty  in  desolation  was  her  pride, 
Her  crowned  array  a  glory  that  had  been  ; 
She  faltered  tow'rds  us  like  a  swan  that  died, 
But  although  ruined  she  was  still  a  queen. 

"Put  back  with  all  her  sails  gone,"  went  the 

word; 
Then,  from  her  signals  flying,  rumour  ran, 
"The  sea  that  stove  her  boats  in  killed  her 

third ; 
She  has  been  gutted  and  has  lost  a  man." 

So,  as  though  stepping  to  a  funeral  march, 
She  passed  defeated  homewards  whence  she 

came, 
Ragged  with  tattered  canvas  white  as  starch, 
A  wild  bird  that  misfortune  had  made  tame. 

She  was  refitted  soon :  another  took 

The  dead  man's  office ;  then  the  singers  hove 


94  THE   "WANDERER" 

Her  capstan  till  the  snapping  hawsers  shook ; 
Out,  with  a  bubble  at  her  bows,  she  drove. 

Again  they  towed  her  seawards,  and  again 
We,  watching,  praised  her  beauty,  praised 

her  trim, 
Saw  her  fair  house-flag  flutter  at  the  main, 
And    slowly    saunter    seawards,    dwindling 

dim; 

And  wished  her  well,  and  wondered,  as  she 

died, 
How,  when  her  canvas  had  been  sheeted 

home, 
Her  quivering  length  would  sweep  into  her 

stride, 
Making  the  greenness  milky  with  her  foam. 

But  when  we  rose  next  morning,  we  discerned 
Her  beauty  once  again  a  shattered  thing; 


THE  V WANDERER"  95 

Towing  to  dock  the  Wanderer  returned, 
A  wounded  sea-bird  with  a  broken  wing. 

A  spar  was  gone,  her  rigging's  disarray- 
Told  of  a  worse  disaster  than  the  last; 
Like  draggled   hair    dishevelled    hung    the 

stay, 
Drooping  and  beating  on  the  broken  mast. 

Half-mast  upon  her  flagstaff  hung  her  flag; 
Word  went  among  us  how  the  broken  spar 
Had  gored  her  captain  like  an  angry  stag, 
And  killed  her  mate  a  half-day  from  the 
bar. 

She  passed  to  dock  upon  the  top  of  flood. 
An  old  man  near  me  shook  his  head  and 

swore : 
"Like  a  bad  woman,  she  has  tasted  blood  — 
There'll  be  no  trusting  in  her  any  more." 


96  THE   "WANDERER" 

We  thought  it  truth,  and  when  we  saw  her 

there 
Lying  in  dock,  beyond,  across  the  stream, 
We  would  forget  that  we  had  called  her  fair, 
We  thought  her  murderess  and  the  past  a 

dream. 

And  when  she  sailed  again,  we  watched  in  awe, 
Wondering    what    bloody    act    her    beauty 

planned, 
What  evil  lurked  behind  the  thing  we  saw, 
What  strength  was  there  that  thus  annulled 

man's  hand, 

How  next  its  triumph  would  compel  man's 

will 
Into  compliance  with  external  Fate, 
How  next  the  powers  would  use  her  to  work 

ill 
On  suffering  men ;  we  had  not  long  to  wait. 


THE   l' WANDERER"  97 

For  soon  the  outcry  of  derision  rose, 
"Here  comes  the  Wanderer!"  the  expected 

cry. 
Guessing  the  cause,  our  mockings  joined  with 

those 
Yelled  from  the  shipping  as  they  towed  her 

by. 

She  passed  us  close,  her  seamen  paid  no 

heed 
To  what  was  called:  they  stood,  a  sullen 

group, 
Smoking  and  spitting,  careless  of  her  need, 
Mocking  the  orders  given  from  the  poop. 

Her  mates  and  boys  were  working  her;  we 

stared. 
What  was  the  reason  of  this  strange  return, 
This  third  annulling  of  the  thing  prepared? 
No  outward  evil  could  our  eyes  discern. 


98  THE  V WANDERER" 

Only  like  one  who  having  formed  a  plan 
Beyond  the  pitch  of  common  minds,   she 

sailed, 
Mocked  and  deserted  by  the  common  man, 
Made  half  divine  to  me  for  having  failed. 

We  learned  the  reason  soon ;  below  the  town 
A  stay  had  parted  like  a  snapping  reed, 
"Warning,"  the  men  thought,  "not  to  take 

her  down." 
They  took  the  omen,  they  would  not  proceed. 

Days  passed  before  another  crew  would  sign. 
The  Wanderer  lay  in  dock  alone,  unmanned, 
Feared  as  a  thing  possessed  by  powers  malign, 
Bound  under  curses  not  to  leave  the  land. 

But  under  passing  Time  fear  passes  too ; 
That  terror  passed,  the  sailors'  hearts  grew 
bold. 


THE   "WANDERER"  99 

We  learned  in  time  that  she  had  found  a  crew 
And  was  bound  out  and  southwards  as  of 
old. 

And  in  contempt  we  thought,  "A  little  while 
Will    bring    her    back    again,    dismantled, 

spoiled. 
It  is  herself;  she  cannot  change  her  style; 
She  has  the  habit  now  of  being  foiled." 

So  when  a  ship  appeared  among  the  haze, 
We  thought,  "The  Wanderer  back  again"; 

but  no, 
No  Wanderer  showed  for  many,  many  days, 
Her  passing  lights  made  other  waters  glow. 

But  we  would  often  think  and  talk  of  her, 
Tell  newer  hands  her  story,  wondering,  then, 
Upon  what  ocean  she  was  Wanderer, 
Bound  to  the  cities  built  by  foreign  men. 


100  THE   '.' WANDERER" 

And  one  by  one  our  little  conclave  thinned, 
Passed  into  ships  and  sailed  and  so  away, 
To  drown  in  some  great  roaring  of  the  wind, 
Wanderers    themselves,    unhappy   fortune's 
prey. 

And  Time  went  by  me  making  memory  dim, 
Yet  still  I  wondered  if  the  Wanderer  fared 
Still  pointing  to  the  unreached  ocean's  rim, 
Brightening  the  water  where  her  breast  was 
bared. 

And  much  in  ports  abroad  I  eyed  the  ships, 
Hoping  to  see  her  well-remembered  form 
Come  with  a  curl  of  bubbles  at  her  lips 
Bright  to  her  berth,  the  sovereign  of  the  storm. 

I  never  did,  and  many  years  went  by, 
Then,  near  a  Southern  port,  one  Christmas 
Eve, 


THE   "WANDERER"  101 

I  watched  a  gale  go  roaring  through  the  sky, 
Making  the  caldrons  of  the  clouds  upheave. 

Then    the   wrack    tattered    and    the    stars 

appeared, 
Millions  of  stars  that  seemed  to  speak  in 

fire; 
A  byre  cock  cried  aloud  that  morning  neared, 
The  swinging  wind-vane  flashed  upon  the 

spire. 

And  soon  men  looked  upon  a  glittering  earth, 
Intensely  sparkling  like  a  world  new-born; 
Only  to  look  was  spiritual  birth, 
So  bright  the  raindrops  ran  along  the  thorn. 

So  bright  they  were,  that  one  could  almost 

pass 
Beyond  their  twinkling  to  the  source,  and 

know 


102  THE  V WANDERER" 

The  glory  pushing  in  the  blade  of  grass, 
That  hidden  soul  which  makes  the  flowers 
grow. 

That  soul  was  there  apparent,  not  revealed, 
Unearthly  meanings  covered  every  tree, 
That  wet  grass  grew  in  an  immortal  field, 
Those  waters  fed  some  never-wrinkled  sea. 

The  scarlet  berries  in  the  hedge  stood  out 
Like  revelations  but  the  tongue  unknown ; 
Even  in  the  brooks  a  joy  was  quick:  the 

trout 
Rushed  in  a  dumbness  dumb  to  me  alone. 

All  of  the  valley  was  aloud  with  brooks; 
I  walked  the  morning,  breasting  up  the  fells, 
Taking  again  lost  childhood  from  the  rooks, 
Whose  cawing  came   above  the  Christmas 
bells. 


THE  r WANDERER"  103 

I  had  not  walked  that  glittering  world  before, 
But  up  the  hill  a  prompting  came  to  me, 
"This  line  of  upland  runs  along  the  shore: 
Beyond  the  hedgerow  I  shall  see  the  sea." 

And  on  the  instant  from  beyond  away 
That  long  familiar  sound,  a  ship's  bell,  broke 
The  hush  below  me  in  the  unseen  bay. 
Old  memories  came:  that  inner  prompting 
spoke. 

And   bright   above   the   hedge   a   seagull's 

wings 
Flashed  and  were  steady  upon  empty  air. 
"A  Power  unseen,"  I  cried,  "prepares  these 

things ; 
Those  are  her  bells,  the  Wanderer  is  there." 

So,  hurrying  to  the  hedge  and  looking  down, 
I  saw  a  mighty  bay's  wind-crinkled  blue 


104  THE   "WANDERER" 

Ruffling  the  image  of  a  tranquil  town, 
With  lapsing  waters  glittering  as  they  grew. 

And  near  me  in  the  road  the  shipping  swung, 
So  stately  and  so  still  in  such  great  peace 
That  like  to  drooping  crests  their  colours 

hung, 
Only  their  shadows  trembled  without  cease. 

I  did  but  glance  upon  those  anchored  ships. 
Even  as  my  thought  had  told,  I  saw  her  plain ; 
Tense,  like  a  supple  athlete  with  lean  hips, 
Swiftness    at    pause,    the    Wanderer    come 
again  — 

Come  as  of  old  a  queen,  untouched  by  Time, 
Resting  the  beauty  that  no  seas  could  tire, 
Sparkling,   as   though   the  midnight's   rain 

were  rime, 
Like  a  man's  thought  transfigured  into  fire. 


THE  V  WANDERER"  105 

And  as  I  looked,  one  of  her  men  began 
To  sing  some  simple  tune  of  Christmas  day ; 
Among  her  crew  the  song  spread,  man  to  man, 
Until  the  singing  rang  across  the  bay ; 

And  soon  in  other  anchored  ships  the  men 
Joined  in  the  singing  with  clear  throats,  until 
The  farm-boy  heard  it  up  the  windy  glen, 
Above  the  noise  of  sheep-bells  on  the  hill. 

Over  the  water  came  the  lifted  song  — 
Blind  pieces  in  a  mighty  game  we  swing; 
Life's  battle  is  a  conquest  for  the  strong; 
The  meaning  shows  in  the  defeated  thing. 


AUGUST,   1914 

How  still  this  quiet  cornfield  is  to-night ! 
By  an  intenser  glow  the  evening  falls, 
Bringing,  not  darkness,  but  a  deeper  light ; 
Among  the  stooks  a  partridge  covey  calls. 

The  windows  glitter  on  the  distant  hill ; 
Beyond  the  hedge  the  sheep-bells  in  the  fold 
Stumble  on  sudden  musip  and  are  still; 
The  forlorn  pinewoods  droop  above  the  wold. 

An  endless  quiet  valley  reaches  out 
Past  the  blue  hills  into  the  evening  sky; 
Over  the  stubble,  cawing,  goes  a  rout 
Of  rooks  from  harvest,  flagging  as  they  fly. 

So  beautiful  it  is,  I  never  saw 

So  great  a  beauty  on  these  English  fields, 

106 


AUGUST,  1914  107 

Touched  by  the  twilight's  coming  into  awe, 
Ripe  to  the  soul  and  rich  with  summer's 
yields. 


These  homes,  this  valley  spread  below  me 

here, 
The  rooks,  the  tilted  stacks,  the  beasts  in  pen, 
Have  been  the  heartfelt  things,  past-speaking 

dear 
To  unknown  generations  of  dead  men, 

Who,  century  after  century,  held  these  farms, 
And,  looking  out  to  watch  the  changing  sky, 
Heard,  as  we  hear,  the  rumours  and  alarms 
Of  war  at  hand  and  danger  pressing  nigh. 

And  knew,  as  we  know,  that  the  message 

meant 
The  breaking  off  of  ties,  the  loss  of  friends, 


108  AUGUST,  1914 

Death,  like  a  miser  getting  in  his  rent, 
And  no  new  stones  laid  where  the  trackway 
ends. 

The  harvest  not  yet  won,  the  empty  bin, 
The  friendly  horses  taken  from  the  stalls, 
The  fallow  on  the  hill  not  yet  brought  in, 
The  cracks  unplastered  in  the  leaking  walls. 

Yet  heard  the  news,  and  went  discouraged 

home, 
And  brooded  by  the  fire  with  heavy  mind, 
With  such  dumb  loving  of  the  Berkshire 

loam 
As  breaks  the  dumb  hearts  of  the  English 

kind, 

Then    sadly   rose   and   left   the   well-loved 

Downs, 
And  so  by  ship  to  sea,  and  knew  no  more 


AUGUST,   1914  109 

The  fields  of  home,  the  byres,  the  market 

towns, 
Nor  the  dear  outline  of  the  English  shore, 

But  knew  the  misery  of  the  soaking  trench, 
The  freezing  in  the  rigging,  the  despair 
In  the  revolting  second  of  the  wrench 
When  the  blind  soul  is  flung  upon  the  air, 

And  died  (uncouthly,  most)  in  foreign  lands 
For  some  idea  but  dimly  understood 
Of  an  English  city  never  built  by  hands 
Which  love  of  England  prompted  and  made 
good. 


If  there  be  any  life  beyond  the  grave, 
It  must  be  near  the  men  and  things  we  love, 
Some  power  of  quick  suggestion  how  to  save, 
Touching  the  living  soul  as  from  above. 


110  AUGUST,  1914 

An  influence  from  the  Earth  from  those  dead 

hearts 
So  passionate  once,  so  deep,  so  truly  kind, 
That  in  the  living  child  the  spirit  starts, 
Feeling  companioned  still,  not  left  behind. 

Surely  above  these  fields  a  spirit  broods, 
A  sense  of  many  watchers  muttering  near 
Of  the  lone  Downland  with  the  forlorn  woods 
Loved  to  the  death,  inestimably  dear. 

A  muttering  from  beyond  the  veils  of  Death 
From  long-dead  men,  to  whom  this  quiet 

scene 
Came  among  blinding  tears  with  the  last 

breath, 
The  dying  soldier's  vision  of  his  queen. 

All  the  unspoken  worship  of  those  lives 
Spent  in  forgotten  wars  at  other  calls 


AUGUST,  1914  111 

Glimmers  upon  these  fields  where  evening 

drives 
Beauty  like  breath,  so  gently  darkness  falls. 

Darkness  that  makes  the  meadows  holier 

still, 
The  elm-trees  sadden  in  the  hedge,  a  sigh 
Moves  in  the  beech-clump  on  the  haunted 

hill, 
The  rising  planets  deepen  in  the  sky, 

And  silence  broods  like  spirit  on  the  brae, 
A  glimmering  moon  begins,  the  moonlight 

runs 
Over  the  grasses  of  the  ancient  way 
Rutted  this  morning  by  the  passing  guns. 


THE  RIVER 

All  other  waters  have  their  time  of  peace, 
Calm,  or  the  turn  of  tide  or  summer  drought ; 
But  on  these  bars  the  tumults  never  cease, 
In  violent  death  this  river  passes  out. 

Brimming  she  goes,  a  bloody-coloured  rush 
Hurrying  her  heaped  disorder,  rank  on  rank, 
Bubbleless  speed  so  still  that  in  the  hush 
One  hears  the  mined  earth  dropping  from  the 
bank, 

Slipping  in  little  falls  whose  tingeings  drown, 
Sunk  by  the  waves  for  ever  pressing  on. 
Till  with  a  stripping  crash  the  tree  goes 

down, 
Its  washing  branches  flounder  and  are  gone. 

112 


THE  RIVER  113 

Then,  roaring  out  aloud,  her  water  spreads, 
Making  a  desolation  where  her  waves 
Shriek  and  give  battle,  tossing  up  their  heads, 
Tearing  the  shifting  sandbanks  into  graves, 

Changing  the  raddled  ruin  of  her  course 
So  swiftly,  that  the  pilgrim  on  the  shore 
Hears  the  loud  whirlpool  laughing  like  a  horse 
Where  the  scurf ed  sand  was  parched  an  hour 
before. 

And  always  underneath  that  heaving  tide 
The  changing  bottom  runs,  or  piles,  or  quakes 
Flinging  immense  heaps  up  to  wallow  wide, 
Sucking  the  surface  into  whirls  like  snakes. 

If  anything  should  touch  that  shifting  sand, 
All  the  blind  bottom  sucks  it  till  it  sinks ; 
It  takes  the  clipper  ere  she  comes  to  land, 
It  takes  the  thirsting  tiger  as  he  drinks. 


114  THE   RIVER 

And  on  the  river  pours  —  it  never  tires ; 
Blind,  hungry,  screaming,  day  and  night  the 

same 
Purposeless  hurry  of  a  million  ires, 
Mad  as  the  wind,  as  merciless  as  flame. 


There  was  a  full-rigged  ship,  the  Travancore, 
Towing  to  port  against  that  river's  rage  — 
A  glittering   ship   made   sparkling   for   the 

shore, 
Taut  to  the  pins  in  all  her  equipage. 

Clanging,  she  topped  the  tide ;  her  sails  were 

furled, 

Her  men  came  loitering  downwards  from  the 
yards ; 

They  who  had  brought  her  half  across  the 

world, 

Trampling  so  many  billows  into  shards, 


THE   RIVER  115 

Now  looking  up,  beheld  their  duty  done, 
The  ship  approaching  port,  the  great  masts 

bare, 
Gaunt  as  three  giants  striding  in  the  sun, 
Proud,  with  the  colours  tailing  out  like  hair. 

So,  having  coiled  their  gear,  they  left  the 

deck  ; 
Within  the  foVsle's  gloom  of  banded  steel, 
Mottled  like  wood  with  many  a  painted  speck, 
They  brought  their  plates  and  sat  about  a 

meal. 

Then  pushing  back  the  tins,  they  lit  their 

pipes, 
Or  slept,  or  played  at  cards,  or  gently  spoke, 
Light    from    the   portholes    shot    in    dusty 

stripes 
Tranquilly    moving,    sometimes    blue    with 

smoke. 


116  THE   RIVER 

These  sunbeams  sidled  when  the  vessel  rolled, 
Their  lazy  yellow  dust-strips  crossed  the  floor, 
Lighting  a  man-hole  leading  to  the  hold, 
A  man-hole  leaded  down  the  day  before. 

Like  gold  the  solder  on  the  man-hole  shone ; 
A  few  flies  threading  in  a  drowsy  dance 
Slept  in  their  pattern,  darted,  and  were  gone. 
The  river  roared  against  the  ship's  advance. 

And  quietly  sleep  came  upon  the  crew, 
Man  by  man  drooped  upon  his  arms  and 

slept ; 
Without,   the   tugboat   dragged   the   vessel 

through, 
The  rigging  whined,  the  yelling  water  leapt, 

Till  blindly  a  careering  wave's  collapse 
Rose  from  beneath  her  bows  and  spouted 
high, 


THE  RIVER  117 

Spirting  the  fo Vsle  floor  with  noisy  slaps ; 
A  sleeper  at  the  table  heaved  a  sigh, 

And  lurched,  half-drunk  with  sleep,  across 

the  floor, 
Muttering  and  blinking  like  a  man  insane, 
Cursed  at  the  river's  tumult,  shut  the  door, 
Blinked,  and  lurched  back  and  fell  asleep 

again. 

Then  there  was  greater  silence  in  the  room, 
Ship's  creakings  ran  along  the  beams  and 

died, 
The  lazy  sunbeams  loitered  up  the  gloom, 
Stretching  and  touching  till  they  reached  the 

side. 


Yet  something  jerking  in  the  vessel's  course 
Told  that  the  tug  was  getting  her  in  hand 


118  THE   RIVER 

As,  at  a  fence,  one  steadies  down  a  horse, 
To  rush  the  whirlpool  on  Magellan  Sand ; 

And  in  the  uneasy  water  just  below 

Her  Mate  inquired  "if  the  men  should  stir 

And  come  on  deck  ?  "    Her  Captain  answered 

"No, 
Let  them  alone,  the  tug  can  manage  her." 

Then,   as  she  settled  down   and    gathered 

speed, 
Her   Mate   inquired  again  "if   they  should 

come 
Just  to  be  ready  there  in  case  of  need, 
Since,  on  such  godless  bars,  there  might  be 

some." 

But  "No,"  the  Captain  said,  "the  men  have 

been 
Boxing  about  since  midnight,  let  them  be. 


THE   RIVER  119 

The  pilot's  able  and  the  ship's  a  queen, 
The  hands  can  rest  until  we  come  to  quay." 

They  ceased,  they  took  their  stations ;  right 

ahead 
The  whirlpool  heaped  and  sucked;  in  tenor 

tone 
The  steady  leadsman  chanted  at  the  lead, 
The  ship  crept  forward  trembling  to  the  bone. 

And  just  above  the  worst  a  passing  wave 
Brought  to  the  line  such  unexpected  stress] 
That  as  she  tossed  her  bows  her  towrope 

gave, 
Snapped  at  the  collar  like  a  stalk  of  cress. 

Then,  for  a  ghastly  moment,  she  was  loose, 
Blind  in  the  whirlpool,  groping  for  a  guide, 
Swinging  adrift  without  a  moment's  truce, 
She  struck  the  sand  and  fell  upon  her  side. 


120  THE  RIVER 

And  instantly  the  sand  beneath  her  gave 
So  that  she  righted  and  again  was  flung, 
Grinding  the  quicksand  open  for  a  grave, 
Straining  her  masts  until  the  steel  was  sprung. 

The  foremast  broke ;  its  mighty  bulk  of  steel 
Fell  on  the  foVsle  door  and  jammed  it  tight ; 
The  sand-rush  heaped  her  to  an  even  keel, 
She  settled  down,  resigned,   she  made  no 
fight, 

But,  like  an  overladen  beast,  she  lay 
Dumb  in  the  mud  with  billows  at  her  lips, 
Broken,  where  she  had  fallen  in  the  way, 
Grinding  her  grave  among  the  bones  of  ships. 


At  the  first  crashing  of  the  mast,  the  men 
Sprang  from  their  sleep  to   hurry  to   the 
deck ; 


THE   RIVER  121 

They  found  that  Fate  had  caught  them  in  a 

pen, 
The  door  that  opened  out  was  jammed  with 

wreck. 

Then,  as,  with  shoulders  down,  their  gathered 

strength 
Hove  on  the  door,  but  could  not  make  it 

stir, 
They  felt  the  vessel  tremble  through  her 

length ; 
The  tug,   made  fast   again,   was  plucking 

her. 

Plucking,  and  causing  motion,  till  it  seemed 
That  she  would  get  her  off;  they  heard  her 

screw 
Mumble  the  bubbled  rip-rap  as  she  steamed ; 
" Please  God,  the  tug  will  shift  her!"  said 

the  crew. 


122  THE   RIVER 

" She's  off!"  the  seamen  said;  they  felt  her 

glide, 
Scraping  the  bottom  with  her  bilge,  until 
Something  collapsing  clanged  along  her  side ; 
The  scraping  stopped,  the  tugboat's  screw 

was  still. 

"She's  holed !"  a  voice  without  cried ;  " holed 

and  jammed  — 
Holed  on  the  old  Magellan,  sunk  last  June. 
I  lose  my  ticket  and  the  men  are  damned ;    j 
They'll  drown  like  rats  unless  we  free  them 

soon. 

"My  God,  they  shall  not!"  and  the  speaker 

beat 
Blows  with   a    crow  upon    the  foremast's 

wreck; 
Minute  steel  splinters  fell  about  his  feet, 
No  tremour  stirred  the  ruin  on  the  deck. 


THE   RIVER  123 

And  as  their  natures  bade,  the  seamen  learned 
That  they  were  doomed  within  that  buried 

door ; , 
Some  cursed,  some  raved,  but  one  among 

them  turned 
Straight  to  the  manhole  leaded  in  the  floor, 

And  sitting  down  astride  it,  drew  his  knife, 
And  staidly  dug  to  pick  away  the  lead, 
While  at  the  ports  his  fellows  cried  for  life : 
"  Burst  in  the  door,  or  we  shall  all  be  dead !" 

For  like  a  brook  the  leak  below  them  clucked. 
They  felt  the  vessel  settling ;  they  could  feel 
How  the  blind  bog  beneath  her  gripped  and 

sucked. 
Their  fingers  beat  their  prison  walls  of  steel. 

And  then  the  gurgling  stopped  —  the  ship 

was  still. 
She  stayed ;  she  sank  no  deeper  —  an  arrest 


124  THE   RIVER 

Fothered  the  pouring  leak ;  she  ceased  to  fill. 
She  trod  the  mud,  drowned  only  to  the  breast. 

And  probing  at  the  well,  the  captain  found 

The  leak  no  longer  rising,  so  he  cried : 

"She    is    not    sinking  —  you    will    not    be 

drowned ; 
The  shifting  sand  has  silted  up  her  side. 

"Now   there  is  time.    The  tug  shall  put 

ashore 
And  fetch  explosives  to  us  from  the  town; 
I'll  burst  the  house  or  blow  away  the  door 
(It  will  not  kill  you  if  you  all  lie  down). 

"Be  easy  in  your  minds,  for  you'll  be  free 
As  soon  as  we've  the  blast."    The  seamen 

heard 
The  tug  go  townwards,  butting  at  the  sea; 
Some  lit  their  pipes,  the  youngest  of  them 

cheered. 


THE   RIVER  125 

But  still  the  digger  bent  above  the  lid, 
Gouging  the  solder  from  it  as  at  first, 
Pecking  the  lead,  intent  on  what  he  did; 
The  other  seamen  mocked  at  him  or  cursed. 

And  some  among  them  nudged  him  as  he 

picked. 
He  cursed  them,  grinning,  but  resumed  his 

game; 
His  knife-point  sometimes  struck  the  lid  and 

clicked. 
The  solder-pellets  shone  like  silver  flame. 

And  still  his  knife-blade  clicked  like  ticking 

time 
Counting  the  hour  till  the  tug's  return, 
And    still    the   ship    stood    steady   on    the 

slime, 
While  Fate  above  her  fingered  with  her  urn. 


126  THE   RIVER 

Then  from  the  tug  beside  them  came  the  hail : 
"They  have  none  at  the  stores,  nor  at  the 

dock, 
Nor  at  the  quarry,  so  I  tried  the  gaol. 
They  thought  they  had,  but  it  was  out  of 

stock. 

"So  then  I  telephoned  to  town;  they  say 
They've  sent  an  engine  with  some  to  the 

pier; 
I  did  not  leave  till  it  was  on  its  way, 
A  tug  is  waiting  there  to  bring  it  here : 

"It  can't  be  here,  though,  for  an  hour  or 

more; 
I've  lost  an  hour  in  trying,  as  it  is. 
For  want  of  thought  commend  me  to  the 

shore. 
You'd  think  they'd  know  their  river's  ways 

by  this." 


THE   RIVER  127 

"So  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  wait," 
The    Captain    answered,    fuming.    "Until 

then, 
We'd  better  go  to  dinner,  Mr.  Mate." 
The  cook  brought  dinner  forward  to  the 

men. 
*  *  *  *  * 

Another  hour  of  prison  loitered  by; 
The  strips  of  sunlight  stiffened  at  the  port, 
But  still  the  digger  made  the  pellets  fly, 
Paying  no  heed  to  his  companions'  sport, 

While  they,  about  him,  spooning  at  their  tins, 
Asked  if  he  dug  because  he  found  it  cold, 
Or  whether  it  was  penance  for  his  sins, 
Or  hope  of  treasure  in  the  forward  hold. 

He  grinned  and  cursed,  but  did  not  cease 

to  pick, 
His  sweat  dropped  from  him  when  he  bent 

his  head, 


128  THE   RIVER 

His  knife-blade  quarried  down,  till  with  a 

click 
Its   grinded   thinness   snapped   against   the 

lead. 

Then,  dully  rising,  brushing  back  his  sweat, 
He  asked  his  fellows  for  another  knife. 
"Never,"    they    said;     "man,    what    d'ye 

hope  to  get?" 
"Nothing,"  he  said,  "except  a  chance  for 

fife." 

"Havers,"  they  said,  and  one  among  them 

growled, 
"You'll   get   no    knife    from   any   here    to 

break. 
You've   dug   the  manhole   since   the   door 

was  fouled, 
And  now  your  knife's  broke,  quit,  for  Jesus' 

sake." 


THE  RIVER  129 

But  one,  who  smelt  a  bargain,  changed  his 

tone, 
Offering  a  sheath-knife  for  the  task  in  hand 
At  twenty  times  its  value,  as  a  loan 
To  be  repaid  him  when  they  reached  the 

land. 

And  there  was  jesting  at  the  lender's  greed 
And  mockery  at  the  digger's  want  of  sense, 
Closing  with  such  a  bargain  without  need, 
Since  in  an  hour  the  tug  would  take  them 
thence. 

But  "  Right,"   the  digger  said.    The  deal 

was  made 
He   took  the  borrowed  knife,   and   sitting 

down 
Gouged  at  the  channelled  solder  with  the 

blade, 
Saying,  "Let  be,  it's  better  dig  than  drown." 


130  THE   RIVER 

And  nothing  happened  for  a  while ;  the  heat 
Grew  in  the  stuffy  room,  the  sunlight  slid, 
Flies  buzzed  about  and  jostled  at  the  meat, 
The  knife-blade  clicked  upon  the  manhole 
lid: 

And  one  man  said,  "She  takes  a  hell  of 
time 

Bringing  the  blaster,"  and  another  snored; 

One,  between  pipe-puffs,  hummed  a  smutty- 
rhyme, 

One,  who  was  weaving,  thudded  with  his 
sword. 

It  was  as  though  the  ship  were  in  a  dream, 
Caught  in  a  magic  ocean,  calm  like  death, 
Tranced,   till  a  presence  should  arise  and 

gleam, 
Making    the    waters    conscious    with    her 

breath 


THE  RIVER  131 

It  was  so  drowsy  that  the  river's  cries, 
Roaring  aloud  their  ever-changing  tune, 
Came  to  those  sailors  like  the  drone  of  flies, 
Filling  with  sleep  the  summer  afternoon. 

So  that  they  slept,  or,  if  they  spoke,  it  was 
Only  to  worry  lest  the  tug  should  come: 
Such  power  upon  the  body  labour  has 
That  prison  seemed  a  blessed  rest  to  some, 

Till    one    man    leaning    at    the    port-hole, 

stared, 
Checking  his  yawning  at  the  widest  stretch, 
Then    blinked    and    swallowed,    while    he 

muttered,  scared, 
"That    blasting-cotton    takes    an    age    to 

fetch." 

Then  swiftly  passing  from  the  port  he  went 
Up  and  then  down  the  foVsle  till  he  stayed, 


132  THE   RIVER 

Fixed  at  the  port-hole  with  his  eyes  intent, 
Round-eyed    and    white,    as    if    he    were 
afraid, 

And   muttered   as   he   stared,    "My   God! 

she  is. 
She's  deeper  than  she  was,   she's  settling 

down. 
That  palm-tree  top  was  steady  against  this, 
And  now  I  see  the  quay  below  the  town. 

"Look  here  at  her.     She's  sinking  in  her 

tracks. 
She's  going  down  by  inches  as  she  stands; 
The  water's  darker  and  it  stinks  like  flax, 
Her  going  down  is  churning  up  the  sands." 

And  instantly  a  panic  took  the  crew, 
Even  the  digger  blenched;  his  knife-blade's 
haste 


THE   RIVER  133 

Cutting  the  solder  witnessed  that  he  knew 
Time  on  the  brink  with  not  a  breath  to 
waste. 

While  far  away  the  tugboat  at  the  quay 
Under  her  drooping  pennon  waited  still 
For  that  explosive  which  would  set   them 

free, 
Free,  with  the  world  a  servant  to  their  will. 

Then  from  a  boat  beside  them  came  a  blare, 
Urging  that  tugboat  to  be  quick;  and  men 
Shouted  to  stir  her  from  her  waiting  there, 
"Hurry  the  blast,  and  get  us  out  of  pen. 

"She's    going    down.     She's    going    down, 

man!    Quick!" 
The  tugboat  did  not  stir,  no  answer  came; 
They  saw  her  tongue-like  pennon  idly  lick 
Clear  for  an  instant,  lettered  with  her  name. 


134  THE   RIVER 

Then   droop   again.    The   engine   had    not 

come, 
The  blast  had  not  arrived.    The  prisoned 

hands 
Saw  her  still  waiting  though  their  time  had 

come, 
Their  ship  was  going  down  among  the  sands, 

Going  so  swiftly  now,  that  they  could  see 
The  banks  arising  as  she  made  her  bed; 
Full  of  sick  sound  she  settled  deathward, 

she 
Gurgled  and  shook,  the  digger  picked  the 

lead. 

And,  as  she  paused  to  take  a  final  plunge, 
Prone  like  a  half-tide  rock,  the  men  on  deck 
Jumped  to  their  boats  and  left,  ere  like  a 

sponge 
The  river's  rotten  heart  absorbed  the  wreck ; 


THE   RIVER  135 

And  on  the  perilous  instant  ere  Time  struck 
The  digger's  work  was  done,  the  lead  was 

cleared, 
He  cast  the  manhole  up;   below  it  muck 
Floated,  the  hold  was  full,  the  water  leered. 

All  of  his  labour  had  but  made  a  hole 
By  which  to  leap  to  death;   he  saw  black 

dust 
Float   on    the   bubbles   of   that   brimming 

bowl, 
He  drew  a  breath  and  took  his  life  in  trust, 

And  plunged  head  foremost  into  that  black 

pit, 
Where  floating  cargo  bumped  against  the 

beams. 
He  groped  a  choking  passage  blind  with  grit, 
The    roaring    in   his    ears    was    shot    with 

screams. 


136  THE   RIVER 

So,  with  a  bursting  heart  and  roaring  ears 

He    floundered    in    that    sunk    ship's    inky 

womb, 

Drowned  in  deep  water  for  what  seemed 

like  years, 
Buried  alive  and  groping  through  the  tomb, 

Till  suddenly  the  beams  against  his  back 
Gave,  and  the  water  on  his  eyes  was  bright ; 
He  shot  up  through  a  hatchway  foul  with 

wrack 
Into  clean  air  and  life  and  dazzling  light, 

And  striking  out,  he  saw  the  foVsle  gone, 
Vanished,  below  the  water,  and  the  mast 
Standing  columnar  from  the  sea;    it  shone 
Proud,  with  its  colours  flying  to  the  last. 

And  all  about,  a  many-wrinkled  tide 
Smoothed   and  erased  its   eddies,   wander- 
ing chilled, 


THE   RIVER  137 

Like  glutted  purpose,  trying  to  decide 

If  its  achievement  had  been  what  it  willed. 

And  men  in  boats  were  there;   they  helped 

him  in. 
He  gulped  for  breath  and   watched   that 

patch  of  smooth, 
Shaped  like  the  vessel,  wrinkle  into  grin, 
Furrow  to  waves  and  bare  a  yellow  tooth. 

Then  the  masts  leaned  until  the  shroud- 
screws  gave. 

All  disappeared  —  her  masts,  her  colours, 
all. 

He  saw  the  yardarms  tilting  to  the  grave; 

He  heard  the  siren  of  a  tugboat  call, 

And  saw  her  speeding,  foaming  at  the  bow, 
Bringing  the  blast-charge  that  had   come 
too  late. 


138  THE   RIVER 

He    heard    one    shout,    "It    isn't    wanted 

now." 
Time's  minute-hand  had  been  the  hand  of 

Fate. 

Then  the  boats  turned;   they  brought  him 

to  the  shore. 
Men  crowded  round  him,  touched  him,  and 

were  kind; 
The  Mate  walked  with  him,  silent,  to  the 

store. 
He  said,  "We've  left  the  best  of  us  behind." 

Then,  as  he  wrung  his  sodden  clothes,  the 

Mate 
Gave  him    a    drink    of    rum,   and    talked 

awhile 
Of  men  and  ships  and  unexpected  Fate; 
And  darkness  came  and  cloaked  the  river's 

guile, 


THE  RIVER  139 

So  that  its  huddled  hurry  was  not  seen, 
Only    made    louder,    till    the    full    moon 

climbed 
Over  the  forest,  floated,  and  was  queen. 
Within  the  town  a  temple-belfry  chimed. 

Then,  upon  silent  pads,  a  tiger  crept 
Down    to    the   river-brink,    and    crouching 

there 
Watched  it  intently,   till  you  thought   he 

slept 
But  for  his  ghastly  eye  and  stiffened  hair. 

Then,  trembling  at  a  lust  more  fell  than  his, 
He  roared  and  bounded  back  to   coverts 

lone, 
Where,    among   moonlit   beauty,    slaughter 

is, 
Filling  the  marvellous  night  with  myriad 

groan. 


WATCHING  BY  A  SICK-BED 

I  heard  the  wind  all  day, 
And  what  it  was  trying  to  say. 
I  heard  the  wind  all  night 
Rave  as  it  ran  to  fight; 
After  the  wind  the  rain, 
And  then  the  wind  again 
Running  across  the  hill 
As  it  runs  still. 

And  all  day  long  the  sea 
Would  not  let  the  land  be, 
But  all  night  heaped  her  sand 
On  to  the  land ; 
I  saw  her  glimmer  white 
All  through  the  night, 
Tossing  the  horrid  hair 
Still  tossing  there. 

140 


WATCHING  BY  A  SICK-BED  141 

And  all  day  long  the  stone 

Felt  how  the  wind  was  blown; 

And  all  night  long  the  rock 

Stood  the  sea's  shock; 

While,  from  the  window,  I 

Looked  out,  and  wondered  why, 

Why  at  such  length 

Such  force  should  fight  such  strength. 


NOTE 

The  River,  which  is  contained  in  this  vol- 
ume, was  first  published  in  the  Century  Maga- 
zine; The  Wanderer  in  Harper's  Magazine; 
Watching  by  a  Sick-Bed  and  August,  1914  in 
Harper's  Weekly.  I  thank  the  editors  of  these 
periodicals  for  permission  to  reprint  them  here. 

JOHN  MASEFIELD. 


TVTEW  Poems  and  Plays  published  by 
The  Macmillan  Company. 


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readers  of  this  country  is  particularly  strong,  in  that  it  deals  with  that 
great  social  process  by  which  all  nationalities  are  blended  together  for 
the  making  of  the  real  American. 

Sword  Blades  and  Poppy  Seed 

By  Amy  Lowell,  Author  of  "A  Dome  of  Many-Coloured 
Glass."    Boards,  i2mo.    $1.25  net. 

Of  the  poets  who  to-day  are  doing  the  interesting  and  original  work,  there 
is  no  more  striking  and  unique  figure  than  Amy  Lowell.  The  foremost 
American  member  of  the  "Imagists" — a  group  of  poets  that  includes 
William  Butler  Yeats,  Ezra  Pound,  Ford  Madox  Hueffer — she  has 
won  wide  recognition  for  her  writing  in  new  and  free  forms  of  poetical 
expression.  Miss  Lowell's  present  volume  of  poems,  "Sword  Blades 
and  Poppy  Seed,"  is  an  unusual  book.  It  contains  much  perhaps 
that  will  arouse  criticism,  but  it  is  a  new  note  in  American  poetry.  Miss 
Lowell  has  broken  away  from  academic  traditions  and  written,  out  of 
her  own  time,  real  singing  poetry,  free,  full  of  new  effects  and  sub- 
tleties. 


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The  Congo  and  Other  Poems 

By  Vachel  Lindsay.    Cloth,  i2mo.     $1.25  net. 

In  the  readings  which  he  has  given  throughout  the  country  Mr.  Lindsay 
has  won  the  approbation  of  the  critics  and  of  his  audiences  in  general 
for  the  new  verse  form  which  he  is  employing.  The  wonderful  effects 
of  sound  produced  by  his  lines,  their  relation  to  the  idea  which  the 
author  seeks  to  convey  and  their  marvelous  lyrical  quality  are  some- 
thing it  is  maintained,  quite  out  of  the  ordinary  and  suggest  new 
possibilities  and  new  meanings  in  poetry.  In  this  book  are  presented 
a  number  of  Mr.  Lindsay's  most  daring  experiments,  that  is  to  say  they 
were  experiments  when  they  were  first  tried;  they  have  been  more  than 
justified  by  their  reception.  It  is  believed  that  the  volume  will  be  one 
of  the  most  discussed  of  all  the  year's  output. 


Borderlands  and  Thoroughfares 

By  Wilfrid  Wilson  Gibson,  Author  of  "Daily  Bread," 
"Fires,"  "Womenkind,"  etc.  Cloth,  i2mo.  $1.25 
net. 

With  the  publication  of  Daily  Bread  Mr.  Gibson  was  hailed  as  a  new  poet 
of  the  people.  Fires,  his  later  volume,  confirmed  the  impression  that 
here  was  a  man  whose  writing  was  close  to  real  life,  a  man  in  whom  were 
combined  a  sympathy  and  appreciation  of  humankind  with  a  rare  lyrical 
genius.  This  present  book  continues  the  work  which  Mr.  Gibson  can 
do  so  well.  In  it  are  brought  together  three  plays  and  a  number  of 
short  lyrics  which  reveal  again  his  very  decided  talent.  It  is  a  collection 
which  should  indeed  gratify  those  students  of  modern  verse  who  are 
looking  to  such  men  as  Gibson  and  Masefield  for  permanent  and  rep- 
resentative contributions  to  literature. 


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Earth  Triumphant  and  Other  Tales 

in  Verse 

By  CONRAD  AIKEN 

Cloth,  i2mo,  $i.2j  net 

Conrad  Aiken  is  one  of  the  first  American  writers  to  choose 
to  tell  his  stories  in  verse.  Helston,  Masefield,  and  other  Euro- 
peans have  been  doing  it  with  marked  success,  but  hitherto  this 
country  has  had  no  notable  representative  in  this  line  of  endeavor. 
Though  Mr.  Aiken  has  been  writing  for  a  number  of  years,  Earth 
Triumphant  and  Other  Tales  in  Verse  is  his  first  published  book. 
In  it  are  contained,  in  addition  to  the  several  narratives  of  mod- 
ern life,  a  number  of  shorter  lyrics.  It  is  a  volume  distinguished 
by  originality  and  power. 

Van  Zom  :  A  Comedy  in  Three  Acts 
By  EDWIN  A.   ROBINSON 

Cloth,  i2mo,  $1.25  net 

This  play  makes  delightful  reading  and  introduces  in  the  per- 
son of  its  author  a  playwright  of  considerable  promise.  Mr. 
Robinson  tells  an  interesting  story,  one  which  by  a  clever  ar- 
rangement of  incident  and  skillful  characterization  arouses 
strongly  the  reader's  curiosity  and  keeps  it  unsatisfied  to  the 
end.  The  dialogue  is  bright  and  the  construction  of  the  plot 
shows  the  work  of  one  well  versed  in  the  technique  of  the  drama. 


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A  LIST  OF  PLAYS 


Leonid  Andreyev's  Anathema $1-25  net 

Clyde  Fitch's  The  Climbers .75  net 

Girl  with  the  Green  Eyes 1.25  ne 

Her  Own  Way .75  ne 

Stubbornness  of  Geraldine .75  ne 

The  Truth 75  nei 

Hermann  Hagedorn's  Makers  of  Madness     .    .    .  1. 00  nei 

Thomas  Hardy's  The  Dynasts.    3  Parts.    Each     .  1.50  ne 

Henry  Arthur  Jones's 

Whitewashing  of  Julia .75  ne 

Saints  and  Sinners .75  net 

The  Crusaders .75  ne 

Michael  and  His  Lost  Angel .75  ne 

Jack  London's  Scorn  of  Women 1.25  ne 

Theft 1.25  ne 

Mackaye's  Jean  D'Arc 1.25  ne 

Sappho  and  Phaon 1  25  ne 

Fenris  the  Wolf 1.25  ne 

Mater 1.25  ne 

Canterbury  Pilgrims 1.25  ne 

The  Scarecrow 1.25  ne 

A  Garland  to  Sylvia 1.25  ne 

John  Masefield's  The  Tragedy  of  Pompey     .    .    .  1.25  net 

Philip  the  King 1.25  nei 

William  Vaughn  Moody's 

The  Faith  Healer 1.25  ne 

Stephen  Phillip's  Ulysses 1.25  ne 

The  Sin  of  David 1.25  ne 

Nero »    •    •  1-25  ne 

Pietro  of  Siena 1.00  ne 

Phillips  and  Carr.    Faust 1.25  ne 

Edward  Sheldon's  The  Nigger 1.25  ne 

Romance 1.25  ne 

Katrina  Trask's  In  the  Vanguard 1.25  ne 

Rabindranath  Tagore's  The  Post  Office     ....  1.00  ne 

Chitra 1.00  ne 

The  King  of  the  Dark  Chamber 1.25  ne 

Edwin  A.  Robinson's  Van  Zorn 1.25  ne 

Sarah  King  Wiley's  Coming  of  Philibert    ....  1.25  ne 

Alcestis -75  ne 

Yeats'  Poems  and  Plays,  Vol.  II,  Revised  Edition   .  2.00 

Hour  Glass  (and  others) 1.25  ne 

The  Green  Helmet  and  Other  Poems    ....  1.25  ne 

Yeats  and  Lady  Gregory's  Unicorn  from  the  Stars  1.50  ne 

Israel  Zangwill's  The  Melting  Pot,  New  Edition    .  1.25  ne 

The  War  God 1.25  ne 

The  Next  Religion 1.25  ne 

Plaster  Saints 1.25  ne 


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